Coming Home
by double scotch.single malt
Summary: Dr. Rachel Scott returns to St. Louis after four years, on New Year's Eve. Modified AU ending for Season 2. Tribute story for Rachel/Tom lovers. Continued for the Valentine's Day Story Extravaganza.
1. Coming Home - Happy New Year

**I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Coming Home**

 _"When you get back, find me."_

The memory of his tone, low and deep, with an air of intimacy, pierced the veil of her subconscious. Smiling into herself, Rachel stepped out of the chopper and instinctively ducked, further retreating into her wool coat and oversized scarf. Walking with haste, she followed the two men on her detail across the windy tarmac and slipped into the sleek, black car. A vacuum of silence consumed her as she closed her eyes and listened to the faint murmur of the men before the heavy car was set in motion and began to roll forward, slow and easy and with purpose.

She was back. She stilled her heart. She exhaled.

And for the first time in four years _–_ _she felt a modicum of relief –_ an inner sense of balance and completion she had been searching for since her swift departure to chase the virus. And now her work was finished. The virus had been eradicated. And it was here, in St. Louis – _on New Year's Eve_ – that she chose to make that declaration, _first_ , to the one person ( _aside from herself_ ) she knew it would matter most to in the world. And then her heart raced on and she breathed steadily again, for she had missed Tom, _longed_ for him, and had eventually fallen in love with him _…_ and now she was at the end of the path that whisked her away from him, or was it the beginning?

 _###_

 _Her legs felt like rubber bands, her nervous excitement getting the better of her as she emerged from the car a short while later and was ushered into the old capital building, her sentinels escorting her down a series of narrow corridors and up two flights of steps where she presently stood just outside President Michener's suite of offices._

Having arrived several hours late, Rachel realized the staff was largely gone for the holiday weekend already and so she was relatively alone while she waited. She unbuttoned her coat, her body temperature regulating now. The floor creaked as she wandered along the tastefully decorated rotunda, ecru walls and blue carpet, her eyes gliding over the pictorial of the young nation's accomplishments: _a chronology of_ _photographs documenting Michener's successes in rebuilding what was lost._ The process was slow and painful, but she could clearly see a rebirth of a nation ... and the rekindling of hope as it was restored throughout the years.

 _Likewise, her own tour of duty had been long and arduous and had taken her across the globe, traipsing and trailing after new viral outbreaks, no matter how small. Over time, her journey became one of self-discovery, and was often lonely, but quite exhilarating and worthy and full of hope too. Except that now, as she stood upon this precipice, she felt that nothing could quite prepare her for the feelings that went along with the finality of declaring this virus's end. The strain was gone from this earth. It was over. And those were the facts. But now what? A path had always materialized for her when it came to her work, except that with the eradication of the Red Flu, there was an ambivalence … there was no obvious direction to go: where should she turn next ... for humanity and for herself?_

Feeling perplexed, she turned around to pace and then she saw it ... _him_ ... a photograph of this wall Tom had told her all about in an email once a long time ago, the side of a building with his portrait painted as mural on it. She blinked hastily, fat tears threatening to fall as she tilted her head and regarded the image. It was everything he said it was: _surreal and strange and bewildering._ She held her breath and whispered the mantra of his name to herself, _'Tom'_ and leaned in for a closer look.

 _"Rachel ...,"_ came Michener's smooth voice from behind her just then.

She froze; effectively pulled from her reverie. She turned and smiled warmly, "Jeffrey."

He smiled too and approached, "Welcome home, old friend. Congratulations, what an incredible feat!"

He looked well and more _'presidential'_ than she remembered. His sentiment resonated, _'welcome home',_ his weathered eyes searched hers, back and forth. "Thank you _…_ it's fantastic, really, life-changing on many levels ...," she offered softly. "Again, I appreciate the transport on such short notice _…_ though I'm afraid I've kept you waiting today, it's already after two ... it seems your offices are closed," she sighed and glanced at her watch.

"Nonsense, like I've said time and again, anything you need, just ask ... it's the least we can do ...," he smiled genuinely. "And ... for the record, you're worth the wait ... and you should know, I'm not alone in that line of thought ...," he speculated with a raised brow and a small grin.

Her cheeks heated. "Well ...," she cleared her throat and looked down and away, nothing but silence on her tongue.

Jeffrey turned back to the image of Tom and pondered, "It's quite a spectacle, isn't it?"

"Yes ...," she breathed and followed his gaze; she anchored her hand on her scarf, soft and comforting, and scrutinized the photograph of the mural again. She sighed and dared herself to ask, "Does he know I'm here?"

Jeffrey smiled, "No ... even with your delayed arrival, I managed to make an excuse for my not leaving when he and Kara did ... your secret is safe with me."

 _She nodded and smiled weakly, taking a measured breath to privately collect herself – for somewhere in the deepest reassess of her mind – she had always envisioned her reunion with Tom as a private one. Except now that she was here, in the moment – it occurred to her in a more realistic sense – that the holidays were upon them … and she suddenly regretted her timing. Because normal people made plans on holidays. People with families they cared about … made plans._

 _But regrettably, her childhood was anything but normal. And as such, even before the virus lay its claim upon the world, she'd always worked through the holidays. This was her status quo, and truth be told, her iron-clad rationale in avoiding her father and the family ties that bound her to him. Having never forgiven or understood her father's part in her mother's death, this was simply how life evolved between them. It wasn't ideal. It wasn't adult. But it was the truth._

 _And so, as time inched forward, the last four years had been no different – for there were even more facets of her life to compartmentalize and avoid (chief among them, her mounting feelings for Tom) – though given her task at hand, admittedly, she felt she had the license ... an excuse, also iron-clad._

She turned back to Jeffrey, "I truly appreciate your discretion in keeping my arrival to yourself _…_ I hope I haven't kept you from anything more pressing with regards to your holiday plans."

He smiled broadly, "Not at all, just a gathering of old friends at Kara and Danny's to ring in the New Year." Tilting his head, he added, "A lot of people you know will be there, I'm sure you would be a welcome addition to the guest list."

Rachel's mind went wild. She blinked. "And Tom? Is he on that list?" she asked of him.

"No, actually ...," he smiled and glanced at his watch. "If I remember his schedule, he should be at home this afternoon ... until the dance starts at the high school …," he surmised with a wry grin.

"He's a chaperone?" she asked, her eyes wide. "Oh, poor Ashley …," she smirked at the thought.

Jeffrey beamed, "I'd say so."

 _###_

Having assured Jeffrey that he hadn't seen the last of her, Rachel relaxed back and into her seat as the driver navigated through the city of St. Louis via a series of back roads to a nearby suburb where he eventually turned down an idyllic tree-lined street. She glanced at her watch, she'd left Dubai about thirty hours ago and counting; her eyes dipped shut at the thought. She breathed, in and out, and then swiftly opened her eyes.

 _The driver turned and entered a gated community where the homes were well-maintained and far enough apart to allow for some privacy and patriotic American flags whipped in the brisk wind over every porch. It was a welcome sight as the late afternoon sun washed over the homesteads in all the right places and carefully hung Christmas lights came to life, twinkling amongst the shadows of the mature trees._

She sighed into herself and fought the overtures of her restlessness, absentmindedly reading the house numbers as the car rolled on, moving her closer and even closer still. Her heart raced and she formulated, _again_ , what she might say to Tom, _in person_ , after all of these years. Because although their relationship was one of substance and deep commitment, it was also one that had developed on a more personal level via a string of lengthy emails, brief phone conversations and occasional video chats. And this worked for them and the children ... because it had to, for this was the world in which they lived and the backdrop _–_ _the wild circumstances of how they met –_ was the very cornerstone of everything they ever meant to one another ... or had become to one another since.

 _And so over time, their polarizing issues regarding Neils Sorensen's death were resolved and they turned to one another quite frequently – she, seeking the solace of his voice after long days and nights in the field – and he, sharing his life with her, the successes and pitfalls of parenting ... and the waves of turbulence in the establishment of a new government._

 _They were connected in the most non-traditional of ways. They were intimate without the physicality of intimacy. And in the later years, they became rather frank with one another ... open and honest about their feelings and what their relationship might look like one day. Except that 'one day' had always been a far off and distant dream. Until now. Had they truly arrived at that coveted juncture: 'one day'? She swallowed the lump of uncertainty forming in her throat. Tears crowded her eyes and she blinked them into recession._ _She just needed to see him. One look from him and she would have her answers._

The car slowed down and idled at the curb. She peeked outside – _the looming house, a modern Victorian, light blue with white trim_ – was situated back and away from the street. The driver opened the door for her and she stepped out and into the cold. The porch lights were illuminated and Jed Chandler emerged, a wide grin set upon his face when he spotted her.

"Well, my eyes must be deceiving me!" he called out jovially.

Rachel met him halfway, his weathered eyes teeming with excitement. "Jed, hello old friend, you're looking well," she said as he wrapped her into his arms without hesitation.

Small tears pricked at her eyes as she held him for a beat longer, his embrace was warm and welcoming. Pulling back, he took a good long look at her and she at him. He smiled brightly, "Finally home for the holidays? A short, much needed vacation?"

Rachel's smile matched his, "Something like that."

Jed pressed his lips into a thin line and looked to the car and the two men on her detail. "They with you?" he quipped.

"I'm used to it, they're part of my convoy, set up by Michener when I travel stateside," she explained. "A deal, I might add, brokered by your son back in the day," she smirked.

"One I'm sure he devised with your safety in mind," he surmised, setting his arm along her shoulders. "Tom's working on a lighting project out back, why don't you surprise him and I'll entertain these guys," he offered with a grin.

Rachel held her hand up to the men, they nodded in assent. "They're all yours," she joked and then looked over her shoulder toward the house.

"See that archway covered with ivy ...," Jed pointed. "Just follow that footpath along there and you'll find him," he smiled. Rachel exhaled, her heart raced slightly. "Go on ...," he urged quietly.

 _And so she did. She slipped her hands into her pockets and followed the pathway around the side of the house, the late afternoon sun almost gone from the horizon now as she passed under the archway and stopped on the other side, lingering to collect herself ... and find him._

 _And then she did ... find him ... perched high on a ladder situated amongst the trees at the perimeter of the garden. He was swapping out a string of Christmas lights, his head disappearing behind the branches for a moment before the lights went on all at once and stunned her. Pure magic was the only way to describe it really, for hidden throughout the trees were sprays of twinkling lights: red, blue, white and green ... an unexpectedly gorgeous display of holiday cheer._

 _Obviously satisfied, Tom grinned and privately admired his handiwork. He looked good, Rachel decided then, his hair was longer than she ever remembered it to be. And he looked younger, more carefree, like the boy he was once, a long time ago. And maybe it was just the street clothes, dark blue jeans and a cardigan – or the magic of the lights – but either way, she felt herself fall for him all over again, right then … right there, without a single word passing between them. She loved him. She knew that now. She shook her head and stepped forward and into the small cascade of light coming from the porch. She breathed, in and out ... and dared herself to call out to him._

 _"Tom ...,"_ she heard her voice then from some far off place.

He cocked his head and looked in her direction. "Rachel ...," he breathed her name, a small smile forming along his face, his baritone, calm and familiar.

 _If he was shocked to see her, she wouldn't have known it. He descended the ladder and she met him halfway, stepping without hesitation into the protective cavern of his warm embrace ... and it was as if, she was home, for the very first time in her life. And then, just like that – everything fell into place – for aside from the memory of her mother's hug, an embrace had never felt so real or tangible or meaningful before. Her heart raced on and on._

"Surprise ...," she whispered into his chest after a long minute, her voice, quiet and small. "I know you don't care much for surprises, but _–_ "

" _I've changed my mind,"_ he whispered cutting her off; he pulled her even closer.

 _And on that sentiment, Rachel willingly lost herself within his calming aura, with his warm breath fanning through her wild tresses and down the back of her neck and his chin pressed to her crown – and her arms slung low around his waist and her ear pressed to his heart – she listened to his rhythm, this slow and steady lullaby she never wanted to be without. Never._

 _Savoring their proximity now – she inhaled sharply and breathed him in – he smelled of aftershave and coffee and pine trees and she found she simply could not get enough of him. It was as if his embrace was the panacea she'd been in search of ... a cure for everything she'd been missing in her life to date. And so, as he swayed slightly with her to a tempo of his own making, she closed her eyes and allowed four years, plus a lifetime more, of stress to ebb away into nothingness. No ... there was nothing quite like the way he felt in her arms and she in his ... nothing. It was beyond compare. Succinct. Perfect. Forever._

"I have a secret ...," she whispered then, breaking through the thick layer of euphoric haze."I know you don't care much for those either but –"

Tom ducked down. "Try me," he said softly with a smile, his eyes so bright and clear and blue, she was stunned.

He blinked and tilted her head up, his cool hands flanking her angular face. She smiled and watched her unexpected presence become a reality to him _– his lips twisting as he shook his head in wonderment_ – his brow suddenly furrowed, his eyes glassy and translucent with unruly emotion ... mere hairline fractures to his otherwise smooth veneer. He blinked again and she watched several small tears pop from his right eye and travel down the smooth plane of his cheek. He let them be and stared at her still.

"Oh don't ... love ...," she comforted, raising her hand, she smoothed her thumb against his face, noting again how young and handsome he had become. High stress and fear, diminished. Fight or flight instincts, gone for the moment. "I'm here ...," she whispered. "I'm back ...," she asserted, feeling quite powerless against the intensity of her feelings for him.

He remained quiet and pensive, and for a brief flicker, she wondered what was on his mind. "You're gorgeous ... a picture of health …," he finally whispered, brushing his nose against hers. "A mirage … a sight for sore eyes ...," he muttered, his voice stacked; his hot breath fanned her face.

"So are you ...," she replied as evenly as she could; her voice shook and betrayed her.

 _Breathing in tandem with him now, she fastened her eyes to his, so intense and all-seeing that she lost herself within the depths of those reflective pools as she held on tight and grounded herself while he did the same._

"Rachel ...," he breathed, resting his forehead against hers, he searched her eyes for answers.

 _She nodded and brushed her thumb along his bottom lip, her heart racing at an unnatural clip now – the anticipation of his touch almost too much to ponder – until he did just that ... and hurdled over a boundary that had been an obstacle for them for so many years ... wherein he finally ... finally ... brushed his lips against hers and stole the last of her bated breath. The kiss ... simply perfect and blended with the precise balance of pressure, tenderness and eroticism, solidified everything she needed and wanted to know: that he wanted her ... needed her, as much as she needed and wanted him._

"What's your secret?" he muttered between pulses, his mouth a perfect fit. Pulling back, he found her hooded eyes in the relative darkness and reminded her, "You have a secret."

She smiled and inclined her head, flanking his skull in her hands where she held him close, kissing him once more before she trained her eyes on his again. "It's the virus ...," she breathed. "It's been eradicated, scientifically …. I'm done ...," she whispered her secret truths and made them real.

Tom stared at her. "You mean ...," he exhaled, his glassy eyes searching hers.

"It's gone from this earth ... _yes_ ...," she confirmed, her watery eyes pinned to his, unwavering, steady.

 _Tom stared at her for a beat longer before he folded her into the envelope of his embrace, wherein she felt the last of his residual stress leave his body in a series of quivering tremors. Shouldering the burden now, she held him close and thought about the men and women of the Nathan James that perished on their mission. She was reminded of the vaccine trials … and El Toro and the monkeys … and her loneliness inside the quiet solitude of her lab. And then adrift to their heated misunderstandings … and the anguish of Baltimore. Baltimore and its dead end. It always stunned her – that singular turn of events – and how vastly different things had become for her and Tom as a result. Emotion clogged in her throat and she shifted in his arms, pressing her lips to his pulse where she waited for it to flicker against her touch … a sign that he was all right. That they were all right._

"The lights are perfect," she whispered, her nose pressed into the crease of his neck.

"Everything's perfect now," he exhaled.

 _###_

A short while later, Rachel sat with Tom and Jed in the front living room and waited for Ashley to change into her dress – _something Kara helped her choose_ – something Tom hadn't seen yet. Rachel could tell he was nervous and slipped her hand into his. He looked down at their hands and squeezed. She smiled and rested her head back against the sofa cushion and looked about the space – _simple furnishings, well-stocked book shelves, plenty of light, a beautiful mantle and fireplace, and a gorgeous Christmas tree, definitely the focal point_ – it was a comfortable room, welcoming on any day of the week, but tonight … it was the heart of this home.

"Thankfully, she doesn't have a date … she's going with a group of girls …," Tom brooded quietly.

Rachel snickered, "That won't always be the case, you know … she's a beautiful young lady."

"That's what I told him," Jed chimed in. "Baby steps, Rachel," he smirked and rose from his seat. "I'm going to grab some more wood for the fire ... I'll be back in a little bit," he winked playfully.

Tom chortled and he shook his head, "Real subtle, Dad."

"I try," he smirked and disappeared.

 _Alone again, Rachel smiled and eyed Tom carefully. She glanced at her bags, situated at the bottom of the steps, for her original travel plan included accommodations at a hotel downtown. And although they hadn't spoken about the finer details of her staying with them – the decision seemed to be made as a group – even Sam, whom was the quietest of the family, made her promise she would stay … so she agreed. Of course, he'd since disappeared into the family room to watch a movie, but in his own way_ _– when he hugged her the way he did – she knew where he stood about the status of her relationship with his father. And that made all the difference to her._

" _I'm glad you're coming with me to this dance … I don't know what I was thinking,"_ came Tom's voice.

Pulled from her thoughts, she turned to him and saw that he too, was eyeing her bags.

"So am I," she replied softly.

"How long will you stay?" he wondered, his voice, low and deep … _hesitant_. "Is this a … _'home for the holidays'_ kind of visit … or …," his voice trailed off and she could see his uncertainty so plainly. He turned back to her.

She held his unwavering gaze and felt a small smile form on her face. "I don't know …," she sighed. He chuckled nervously and reached for her. She glanced at the entryway before she closed the small distance between them and kissed his lips … soft and quick, familiar already. "I don't think it's called a visit … if I'm coming home …," she whispered quickly into their confessional. Pulling back, she searched his eyes for answers. "Am I … coming home, Tom?" she asked softly.

Eyes glassy again, he merely nodded and drew her near, his warm hands flanking her face where he held her there inside the cherished moment. "I didn't think you would ever come back … to me …," he whispered; his voice cracked. "I hoped … for many years, I wished … for all this time …," he smiled weakly. "To just _see_ you and _feel_ you ... to know you're safe … and healthy …," he rambled on before he kissed her cheeks and then her lips, languidly this time.

 _Lost within everything he did to her now, Rachel's heart shook, pinching her from somewhere low and deep, this small place she saved just for him a long time ago. A place where everything was ideal and serene and peaceful. Where a cross-section of herself only he understood resided. This version of herself that belonged solely to him ... finally, safe and sound ... and home, with him._

"On this earth …," she whispered. "And trust me, I'm well-traveled ...," she laughed breathlessly and found his eyes again. "There's no place I would rather be … but _home_ , here with you ...," she said softly. Fat tears flooded her eyes and he became blurred. She blinked and found him again.

 _Tom smiled, the depths of his eyes, clear and blue with flecks of silver, without a storm in sight now. For he suddenly appeared more whole and healed, and repaired by some kind of miracle … he looked like she felt: relieved, happy, sated._

"Welcome home, Rachel …," he whispered then and it sounded like a clarion call ... a wish ... a dream come true.

 _###_

 _The dance was held in the recreation room at the library and as it turned out there were about as many parent chaperones in attendance as teens. The mood and decorations were festive and the lights were dimmed. The punch bowl was filled ... music and conversation were flowing easily ... and what they lacked in number, the teens made up for in spirit._

Standing off and to the side, Rachel observed the scene before her now, smiling at Ashley as she danced with a group of friends _–_ _carefree and happy_ _–_ her woes behind her, at least for the moment. For Rachel was well aware that a certain degree of post-traumatic stress and guilt lived on in perpetuity in all survivors, herself included. She felt saddened again by Darien's passing and pondered ( _again_ ) how different Ashley and Sam's lives would be today, had she and Tom gotten to Baltimore on time to save her too. Deflated, she thought of her own mother and the impact of that loss upon her, and vowed ( _again_ ) to invest herself in their ongoing recovery, something she lacked as a child.

Her mind wandered then and landed somewhere back on the Nathan James _–_ _wherein she mulled over her extended family_ _–_ and the supreme legacy they left in their wake ... and the lasting impact they had on her since she first stepped onto the ship. She thought of Russ Jeter, Tex and Danny and Kara and of Carlton Burke and Andrea Garnett and of Mike Slattery ... and his reunion with his beloved Christine. She smiled and thought about the idea of family and what that meant to her now that she had one, as unconventional as it was. Her eyes swept the room again and her thoughts migrated back to her parents and her own childhood, also unconventional.

 _Ashley waved to her enthusiastically and she suddenly felt overjoyed at the blessing of being able to share this evening with her, having never been to a high school dance of her own. She sighed somewhere deep inside and let her old regrets and misgivings go, avoiding that pang of sadness that permeated to her surface from time to time. She blinked her emotions back and away._

Switching gears, she turned her head and found Tom watching her from his post near the punch bowl, his keen eyes instantly fastened to hers. He smiled reassuringly. She smiled in return. He promptly ended his conversation with the other chaperone and made his approach, double-fisted.

He winked and offered a cup to her. "Cheers," he joked with a wide grin. She laughed at his antics and took a ceremonial sip of the syrupy drink. She pursed her lips together. "Good stuff," he chortled.

She smiled, her eyes moving along the room, "As it should be ... there's a lot to celebrate."

He draped his arm along her shoulders then, soothing her without words. She leaned into his heat. _"You all right? You were a million miles away before ... pretty deep in thought ...,"_ he probed gently.

Rachel looked up to him, quite mystified, "How do you do that? Know me so well?"

"Years of practice," he replied softly with a reflective smile. He sighed. "You know, I could ask you the same question ...," he added thoughtfully, and she knew that was true.

Leaning into his embrace, she slipped her free arm around his waist and rested her head into the crook of his shoulder. She trained her eyes on the party again and breathed, "I was thinking about Ashley and Sam." He turned to her. "And then about my parents and my childhood ...," she disclosed quietly. "You know, I never went to a dance like this, in all of my youth," she went on.

Tom exhaled, "I see."

He smiled and took her cup from her and set it down with his, a mischievous grin plastered to his face now. She laughed and he slipped his hand into hers and lead the way _– circumnavigating along the perimeter of the space until he abruptly turned into a reading alcove meant for smaller children_ _–_ the room, lit only by the glow of shadowy moonlight as it shone through the skylights above, was vacant ... _private_.

"Tom?" she turned to him, hers eyes flicking to his.

"Shall we?" he asked, taking her hand.

Her cheeks heated like a schoolgirl, suddenly shy, she answered, "I would like that."

 _And so he drew her near. And just like that, they were dancing, slow and steady – his chin pressed to her halo, his arms wrapped around her – the din of the party, the soundtrack for the moment as she closed her eyes and set her ear over his heart, listening again to his muscle ... waiting for the world to fall away, until all that mattered was their arrival at this moment. Together. Alone. Forever._

Tom shifted, moving them deeper into the private corner of the sanctuary. Rachel opened her eyes and peeked up at him. She smiled and he pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek. "You know ... Ashley's sleeping at Monica's house, the brunette," he said softly.

"Nice girl," she replied, her eyes pinned to his, they swayed together.

He nodded. "My original plan was to stop by Danny and Kara's before heading home ...," he went on, searching her eyes. "But if you're not up for it ... we don't have to," he said with a weak smile.

 _Rachel smiled in tandem, for as much as the idea of seeing her old friends sounded like a grand idea, there was a small part of her that wanted more time alone with Tom and the family tonight, simple and peaceful without a lot of distraction._

She scanned his face and then answered, "I'd like to do whatever you want, go wherever you want to go."

He laughed and cupped her face with his hands, "You've learned _a lot_ about diplomacy."

She beamed. "Only when it comes to you," she quipped playfully.

 _Leaning up, she brushed her lips against his, still sweet like punch. Cupping her face, he deepened their oral union and she released a guttural moan as he drew her flush against him. He whispered her name, the air between them hot – his fingertips nestled along her hairline before she kissed him again – one hand set upon his heart and the other on his pulse point, feeling it quicken under her lithe touch._

"We're skipping the party ...," he muttered against her mouth, his tenor, deep and soulful, vibrated through her akin to the strum of a guitar.

 _###_

It was close to nine before the dance wrapped up and the crowd began to disperse. Rachel walked with Tom from the car with Ashley's overnight bag, watching the small group of teens with interest as they stood near the front of the library with their hosts, two single mother survivors that now shared a home. Dressed casually in jeans and sweaters, the women were their contemporaries, likely in their mid-to-late forties and in good health.

"They're nice people," she offered then.

"They are," he agreed. "Humble and hardworking like most survivors ...," he nodded.

Looking ahead, Rachel scanned the parking lot again, her heart racing as it struck her again just how many single parent situations may have resulted from the outbreak - _for there were a great many parents accompanying their children to this dance on New Year's Eve_ \- a rare occurrence, that had somehow become the norm. She slipped her hand into Tom's and squeezed. He looked to her and she to him. The world had changed and there was nothing she could do about it.

"Here you go," he smiled at the group as he handed the bag to Ashley.

"Thanks, Dad," she said happily, her eyes twinkling with excitement as she leaned up to peck him on the cheek.

"Welcome," he answered with a small smile. He set his hand low along Rachel's back and turned to the women. "Pamela, Diane ... this is _–_ "

"Dr. Rachel Scott ... we know, we recognize you ...," Pamela said, cutting him off. She held her hand out, her smile, sincere.

"A pleasure," Rachel blushed and shook her hand.

"The pleasure is ours," Diane interjected then, her dark eyes glassy. "We were there that day, in the courtyard when your ship docked ... of course, we didn't know one another yet ... but ...," her voice trailed off.

"Thank you ...," Pamela went on, pressing her lips together. She looked around at the group. "You saved us ... all of us ... we're honored to meet you ... girls, come and say hello to Dr. Scott," she encouraged.

 _Rachel smiled as she hugged the girls while Tom and Ashley looked on, but she secretly cringed. And the uneasiness wasn't because of the sudden outpouring of emotion from the girls and their mothers – but rather, because in some shape or form – she was reminded of what was lost ... the people in their lives, fathers and siblings that likely didn't survive and therein she felt like apologizing more than anything else. Pressing on, she smiled through her sadness as she and Tom hugged Ashley tight and wished her a Happy New Year._

"I'm glad you're home, Rachel," Ashley said quietly, having moved away from the center of the group.

Rachel caught an intensity in Ashley she hadn't seen until now. "Me too," she answered softly.

Ashley glanced at the group and then back to her. "And you ... and Dad, everything's good between you?" she asked quickly.

Rachel's cheeks heated and a smile formed on her face. She turned away from the group. "Everything's perfect ...," she assured, tilting her head.

Ashley's eyes became glassy and she looked down and away for a beat. "I just want everyone to be happy," she whispered then, her voice quivering. "Especially my Dad ... he's been lonely ... he has his work ... and us, we have _so_ much, we _do_ ... but he wants you too ...," she rambled on, a small set of tears popping free as she did.

 _Rachel instinctively drew Ashley into a hug and held her close, her arms wrapped around her, safe and sound wherein she suddenly felt ... maternal ... protective. Inhaling sharply, she pressed her lips together and opened her eyes to find Tom watching them. She smiled, reassuring him without words, they were all right._

"Everyone is going to be happy again, including your Dad ... I promise," she hushed softly. Pulling back, she smiled. "My work is done ... the virus is gone, completely ...," she informed her then.

"It is?" she asked, her eyes wide and laden with hope. Rachel nodded, holding her gaze. "So does this mean you're home for good?" she persisted excitedly.

"Yes, sweet girl," she smiled and hugged her again. "It seems I am ...," added and she felt the last of her tensions ebb.

 _###_

It was almost ten by the time she and Tom walked into the quiet house, soft yellow light illuminating the foyer and living room.

"Dad ... Sam?" Tom called out.

He set his keys down on the small table in the entryway and moved to help Rachel off with her coat. She smiled and he hung their coats up. The house was warm and comfortable and quiet and after closing the door, it felt as though the world outside was gone. _She really was home._

Jed emerged from the kitchen, a bottle of B&B in hand. "Hi," he smiled.

"Hi Dad," Tom grinned. "Sam's asleep?" he prompted easily.

"Yep, about a half hour ago," Jed answered, turning to Rachel he explained, "Poor kid can't stay up late, he's too much of an early-riser."

Rachel laughed, "I see ... I was the same as a child."

"How was the dance? Ashley okay?" Jed asked.

"She's just fine ... happy, excited …," Tom sighed, pressing a chaste kiss to Rachel's temple.

"Shall we?" Jed smirked, raising the dark brown bottle up.

Tom chuckled, "I don't see why not." He set his hand upon Rachel's lower back. "How about it?" he asked.

Rachel smiled. "Sure ... I haven't had a brandy in years though and I'm jet-lagged ... so I'll warn you, I may get rather tipsy," she said playfully.

"I think I can handle that ...," Tom smiled. His father disappeared into the kitchen and he drew her close. "Might actually enjoy it too," he flirted shamelessly; her laughter echoed in the hallway.

 _###_

 _True to form, the brandy warmed her from the inside out. The elixir didn't go to her head as much as her entire body ... and rather suddenly she felt warm and heavy and free of tension. Her cheeks were hot to the touch. Tom set the glasses into the sink and Jed gave her a quick hug._

"Happy New Year kiddos ... I'm off to bed," he announced happily. He clapped Tom on the back and headed down the long hallway to his quarters. _"I took your bags upstairs, Rachel,"_ he called after them and then he was gone.

"Night Dad," Tom chuckled and turned to her, shaking his head. She smiled, her eyes heavy. "You're tipsy ... _exhausted_ ...," he intuited, tracing his fingertips along her hairline.

Rachel sighed, leaning into his touch. "I am ...," she conceded.

Tom laughed, "Come on, let's get you upstairs."

The pair ambled together as Tom turned the lights off and they made their way upstairs, only a triangle of light remaining in the hallway to guide them. At the top of the landing, Tom turned to the right. "Sam's room," he pointed, inching the door open. They peeked inside, he was safe and sound. Rachel looked up to Tom and smiled. He closed the door an inch and turned to her. He glanced down the hallway, his eyes suddenly wide. "The guest room is down at the end there," he pointed. "And my room is at the opposite end on this side ...," he turned his head and pointed, Rachel followed his gaze and that's when she saw her bags ... where Jed had placed them, just outside of Tom's doorway.

Her heart raced, suddenly flushed, she whispered, "As you said, he's subtle."

Tom nodded and turned to her, his eyes vacillating, back and forth. He smiled and leaned back against the wall and drew her close, wedging himself there. Her heart raced on and on ... their proximity somehow made real again. He sighed and she looked up. "I would be a liar if I said I didn't want you in my bedroom with me ...," he exhaled. "Tonight ... _every_ night ...," he went on softly, his intense eyes fixed on hers.

Rachel's heart bottomed out and she sobered up. "Every night ...," she breathed, searching his eyes.

Tom nodded, a handsome smile gracing his face. "Whatever makes you comfortable ...," he sighed, taking her hands in his. "You're tired ... it's been a long day ... we don't have to act on anything ... _intimate_ ...," he uncharacteristically rambled, searching her eyes. "I just want you with me ... _need_ you, with me ...," he enunciated slowly.

 _Rachel breathed and then closed the small distance between them, setting her palm upon his heart ... racing just like hers. She laughed breathlessly, her mind wild – and maybe it was the lovely brandy or his racing heart or maybe it was just the idea of finally making it back to him – but suddenly none of it mattered. None of it, not even the circumstances of their unconventional meeting ... or their endurance of pain and misfortune or the tenacity with which they fought, to arrive here, now._

"I would be one too ...," she inclined her head up. She smiled. "A liar ... a _big_ liar ... if I stayed apart from you ... for even one night," she whispered into their confessional. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to the warmth of his neck and soothed, "After everything ... I'm here ... I need you, want you too ... above all else."

 _A spark of recognition swiftly settled onto Tom's face and within those finite seconds, it seemed their fates were sealed. Wasting no time, he began to kiss her, slowly, as they moved together and he guided her down the long hallway to his bedroom. Bags shoved inside, he closed the door behind them and stared at her and she at him for a long, quiet moment. The room was dark save for a small cascade of moonlight. She blinked and stepped into his embrace, chasing his innate heat, arms wrapped around one another where they stayed, her lips pressed to his neck ... and his to her shoulder._

"We're alone ... _alone_... for the first time ...," he husked before he kissed her again, slow and steady. "Hmm, brandy ... tastes so good on you," he whispered thickly, his open mouth descending upon hers again where he kissed her senseless as if they'd been lovers for years already.

 _With all space and time lost, Rachel let herself go, cognitively losing herself for the first time in a long time, her fight or flight instincts, gone – she had nowhere to be, nothing to run from – and all that mattered was Tom and everything he did to her, from the inside, out. Shoes were kicked off and with her mouth fused to his, she unbuttoned his shirt, while she too lost pieces of her clothing (and of herself in tandem) as he slowly undressed her. Almost nude, they were suddenly at the foot of his bed, his large hand palming her tush, her hands splayed upon his muscular chest._

 _Pausing to catch her breath, she found his hooded eyes in the relative darkness, her body flush against his: virile, lean, muscular ... hot. Desire pooled at her core. She kissed him again and the idea of "first times" struck her ... along with new beginnings and rebirths (hers and his) ... and everything it took to get them right here, now, and on the precipice of a brand New Year._ _Spying the entryway to the master bathroom, she had an idea._

"Shower with me ...," she whispered suddenly, searching his eyes. He pressed his lips together and regarded her. "I want a clean slate ... with you ...," she articulated quickly, seeking the clarity she so desperately wanted. She blinked and stifled her mounting emotions. "Just ... _us_ ... _alone_ , for the first time."

Tom smiled and stepped closer, his body heat encapsulating her now as he slipped his fingers under the straps of her bra before he began to kiss her neck just under her ear. "I want us ... _alone_ , like nothing else ...," he whispered hotly. "But I won't be able to keep my hands off of you ... if we do that ...," he warned, his voice, low, intimate ... _honest_. A responsive pulse of ragged energy zipped up Rachel's spine as he continued his assault on her senses, slowly backing her up toward the bathroom. "I won't ...," he persisted.

"And I'm not asking you to," she countered as they crossed over the threshold and into the unknown ... together.

 _###_

 _They left the lights off, the bathroom aglow with steam and a blue sheen of filtered moonlight that shone into the enclave from a small opaque window. Chasing their brand of heat, the new lovers explored one another slowly … each caress and kiss, tender … each moan of pleasure, unspoken praise. Eyes and hearts open, they kissed and massaged and washed each other clean until all that remained was Rachel and Tom … and Tom … and Rachel … and the new spark between them that would become the light of everything they would covet and protect: the power of 'them'._

Eventually, the water became a degree or two cooler and Tom turned the faucet off and reached for an oversized towel, light blue, fluffy and warm, he wrapped Rachel up and took one for himself. With her eyes wide open still, she stood before him and stared at him for a beat, her heart racing. She smiled weakly and leaned into his heat and kissed him again. His tongue, responsive – _though she set their rhythm this time_ – unhurried and gentle. Reaching for him, her towel fell open and he stepped closer wherein she pressed her mouth to his chest and then over his heart, lingering there … his muscle, beating on in perpetuity for her.

 _She felt him exhale sharply and then his towel fell open too, tufts of his body heat released upon her now as her fingertips danced along his sinewy chest and ribs, resting at his hips where she held herself steady. Her eyes dipped shut, their euphoric haze permeating her every fiber as he whispered her name. His heated call echoing throughout the misty chamber as he danced his fingertips along her neck and then downwards where he brushed the pads of his thumbs across her nipples, back and forth he went until her responsive flesh hardened under his touch and she released a guttural moan … one that hung, vibrating between them._

"So beautiful ...," he whispered into her ear. The fine hairs on her neck bristled and then he was kissing her again before he pulled away and followed that same pathway with his mouth – _gently nipping at her rosy pleasure points, his hot breath fanning her chest as he cupped her breasts_ – his short wet hair tickling her as slowly had his way with her.

Rachel's whole body hummed; she exhaled and braced herself, one hand nestled on his halo, pitching forward, she kissed his neck and shoulder. "Come to bed ...," she whispered into his ear. He kissed her flesh once more before he traversed and made his way back up her torso where she opened her eyes to find him.

 _###_

 _Exiting the bathroom, Rachel quickly found her bag and slipped an oversized t-shirt on along with a pair of yoga pants. Her skin was hot and the cooler air was a welcome relief. Tom took her towel, he had donned a pair of pajama pants and an undershirt, dark blue. His face was flushed and his eyes were bright. She held her toothbrush up and he chuckled. Entering the bathroom together, he flipped the switch on and they took turns brushing their teeth. And as they watched one another through the mirror, all she could think about was how natural this felt …. like they'd performed this ritual dance together thousands of times before in their lifetime._

Tom rinsed his mouth and Rachel passed the hand towel to him. He patted his face dry and turned around to face her. Leaning up, she kissed him. "Hmm, minty," she smiled.

 _He chuckled and kissed her again before switching the light off and draping his arm along her shoulders wherein they slipped back and into the quiet solitude of his room and further into one another as they tumbled into the warmth of his bed together, the linens, ecru with blue trim._

Sighing in tandem, they rolled into one another and smiled. "We made it," he whispered, lacing his legs through hers. He propped his head against his palm and leaned down to kiss her.

"We did," she agreed, deepening the kiss, her hand at the nape of his neck now, his hair soft, he smelled of shampoo and tasted like toothpaste.

Pulling back slightly, he smiled, his eyes suddenly dancing. "Rachel … _look_ …," he prompted softly.

She followed his gaze, right in time to see the clock move forward one minute and into the new year, it was midnight. Her heart raced and she turned back to him. "Happy New Year, love …," she whispered, her eyes fastened to his.

"Yes … it is … the first of many …," he smiled, his eyes sparkling against the fragmented light. "Best new year … _ever_ …," he breathed, inching forward, he kissed her, soft and quick before retreating into the linens with her again – _wherein he pulled her close_ – his lips pressed to her halo now … her ear over his heart where she listened for that all too familiar strum of his muscle. _"Happy New Year, Rachel …,"_ he whispered, his arms encircling her.

 _###_

 _She felt warm and at peace. Balanced and safe. These were her first coherent thoughts as she opened her eyes, curled into Tom's embrace just where she fell asleep. She watched him breathe for a moment – the rise and fall of his chest, lulling her – slow and steady. She blinked and let her eyes adjust to the predawn light as it began to filter in through the sheer curtains, the world still asleep … and quiet._

Careful not to disturb Tom, she looked about his room … his safe haven, where she saw so much of him here. Small relics of his life: _photos of the children … many from their early childhood and gifts from them, decorated frames and paperweights_. A bookcase, tall and filled to capacity. Tilting her head, she noticed a framed drawing of Tom sitting with his father, the likeness incredible. Upon a closer look, she was surprised to see Sam's signature scrolled along the bottom and smiled at the thought of him as such a capable artist – _for she knew he enjoyed art_ – she just hadn't realized how naturally talented he was.

Continuing along her journey, her eyes moved across the balance of the room, pausing when she came to the mantle over the fireplace on the far side of the space. Craning her neck, she spotted some smaller framed photographs of the children with Darien – _her heart trembling akin to a leaf on a vine now as she realized she had seen these photos before … many times_ – in Tom's quarters and in his office on the Nathan James. Also there, a bracelet that was familiar too, colorful and made by a child, Ashley perhaps. And alongside the bracelet, was a half of a clam shell _– Tom's wedding band, still bright and shiny_ – was situated there. Rachel blinked at her a memory of a video chat in which she noticed that Tom had removed his ring. She didn't say anything that day and she knew she didn't have to, but she remembered feeling crestfallen over the finality of that action.

 _Small tears gathered and she stared at the images still … Darien, so gorgeous and full of life as she stared back at Rachel now with her smile, warm and inviting and so very happy … as she smiled perpetuity, perched upon this mantle now … all relics of their mission to chase the cure, a private alter of sorts. All important to him. Important to her. Important to them. And with those acknowledgements, she closed her eyes and set her tears free … along with a wish of lasting happiness in her heart for Darien's legacies, Ashley and Sam._

Feeling restless now, she carefully slipped from the warm confines of his bed – _stopping to drape a large navy blue cable knit blanket over her shoulders, warm and thick_ – the floor creaking under her feet as she approached the door wherein she turned the handle slowly and stepped out and into the cool hallway. She exhaled and padded her way along the darkened space and down the stairs to the kitchen when she noticed a small triangle of soft light coming from the back porch. Instead of switching the light on, she peered outside and saw Sam's silhouette. At just before six, she was surprised to see him there, but then remembered, he was an early-riser.

She approached the connecting door and gently knocked. He turned around and smiled brightly. She pushed the door open and greeted him softly, "Happy New Year, Sam."

"Hi Rachel ... same to you," he smiled; his hair, on the longer side, was a mess. "I'm watching the sunrise, want to wait for it with me? I made hot chocolate ...," he went on; his voice cracked and he cleared his throat.

"Sure ... I would like that, very much," she answered.

Carefully, she made her way down two steps and crossed the small enclosed porch, the hardwood floor, cold against her bare feet. She sat down next to him on the wicker couch where he'd set up camp – _a small space-heater nearby_ – radiating just the right amount of warmth. The porch light was dim and from where she sat now, offered an expansive view of the backyard and beyond, toward the horizon where a small glow of morning light had already been ignited. Sam reached behind him to a credenza from which he produced another mug.

"I make fantastic hot chocolate," he commented smartly as he nodded his head and poured some into the mug from a carafe situated on the coffee table.

He smiled and handed the mug to her. "Thank you," she murmured; the mug warmed her hands up as she took a small sip. The sweet morning treat, rich chocolate, with a hint of cinnamon, went down smoothly.

Sam eyed her carefully, "So?"

She laughed. "You're right, it's pretty fantastic," she praised and took another sip.

And then all was quiet between them for several beats then and she watched with great interest as he kept his eyes pinned to the horizon – _reminding her so much of his father in that moment, that she thought to tell him so_ – but in the end, she resisted and held her tongue, and instead simply enjoyed the moment and his company and the quiet reflection that went along with it.

Shifting, she set her mug down and folded her cold feet underneath her and settled back and into the oversized blanket, inhaling sharply, the essence was familiar ... _deep sea ... coffee ...Tom_. Warming up, she looked about and noticed a sketch book on the coffee table nearby, a stack of colored pencils there too.

 _The sun rose a bit higher and a beautiful spray of warm light came with it, the clouds under the bulkhead, tamping it down, but not for long. She sighed and found herself holding her breath – watching as the sky all around them became a swirling blend of pink and orange and goldenrod – in symphony now with the chirp and chatter of the birds as the world slowly woke up._

 _She blinked and absorbed the subtle beauty of it all, privately basking in the afterglow of her heated reunion with Tom and the magic transcending in front of her eyes now, realizing once again, just how happy and sated she was. Her cheeks heated in response and she looked down and away from the horizon in an effort to maintain her composure._

Effectively pulled from her reverie, she tilted her head and saw that Sam had begun to sketch the scene before him. His drawing suffused with a glorious display of color as he managed to catch the light as it fell across the tops of the trees in the garden. The drawing must have been a work in progress. She smiled at his tenacity, watching closely as he bent over his work, his shoulders just beginning to broaden, his voice changing too – _she would have imagined him to be a typical middle school boy_ – but she knew he wasn't. She knew … there was so much more to this remarkable young man, just coming into his good looks and fine personality.

He glanced at her at her then, his long hair falling into his eyes. "You're watching me," he observed casually. She smirked. He smiled and put his pencil down. "That's my Dad's blanket ...," he announced softly without judgment. Reaching out, he ran his fingers along a line of stitches. "Soft, isn't it?" he pondered.

Rachel blushed, "It is ... I borrowed it this morning."

He chuckled, a silly grin on his face ( _again like his father_ ). "You know ... a long time ago, my Nana made that blanket for my Dad ...," he laughed with a crooked grin. "The story is that she was poking fun at my grandpa because he was a career Army man ...," he explained easily.

Rachel smiled. "I see ... and your father chose the Navy," she breathed, thinking of the first time she met Tom on the Nathan James ... twenty or so years later.

"Exactly," Sam chuckled; he shook his head. "And my Nana ... well, she knitted and knitted this _navy blue_ blanket for months before Dad joined the academy just so he could take it with him ... and let's just say, that may or may not have gotten under my grandpa's skin," he explained with a wry grin.

Rachel sighed and thought of Jed and how feisty he could be. She giggled and so did Sam. "I'm sorry I never had the chance to meet your Nana ... she's sounds like a marvel," she offered then.

"She was tough," he acknowledged with a small smile. "She would have liked you ...," he complimented as he chose a yellow pencil and resumed the contouring of the light as it moved against a tree located on the far left of the yard. Rachel tilted her head and followed his line of sight … captivated by what he might see … and draw.

" _There you are ... you disappeared on me ...,"_ came Tom's smooth baritone from behind them then. The pair turned around. "Morning buddy," he said to Sam. "Happy New Year," he smiled broadly.

"Hi Dad … Happy New Year," Sam smiled happily. He set his pencil down and closed his sketch book.

"Good morning …," Rachel breathed, her eyes fastened to his, bright blue and dancing already. _Her heart raced._

Tom sauntered over and leaned down. He winked and pressed a lingering kiss to Rachel's cheek, his touch familiar. "Good morning," he whispered, his hand resting on her shoulder.

"And that's my exit," chortled Sam.

Rachel and Tom looked up. They smiled and Tom drew him into a hug and rubbed his back. "It's going to be a great year," he said inside of the embrace.

"It is," Sam agreed with a broad smile.

They watched him go and smiled at one another when the door closed. Tom sat down next to Rachel and sighed. "He's so talented, isn't he?" he doted on Sam's work.

Rachel turned her face and kissed his cheek. "He is," she agreed, tilting her head up, she added, "We were just talking about your mother ... and this blanket I've fallen in love with."

Tom pressed his lips together and nodded in assent. "That makes two of us ...," he exhaled and instinctively ran his fingertips along his mother's handiwork.

 _Rachel opened the blanket and handed the corner to Tom. He draped it around his shoulder, his body heat encapsulated immediately. He shifted and drew her closer, his lips pressed to her halo, her lips lingering on his pulse point as she breathed him in: sleep and Tom and shampoo … and something else, a new element, perhaps … belonging to her. She closed her eyes and listened to her man breath and to the birds calling to one another wherein she was lulled by the peacefulness of the moment … and found herself drawn to the simplicity of it. And this crazy idea of home residing where the heart was … hers and his … theirs._

 _"You know, I took this blanket with me to the Naval Academy ... but it wasn't until just recently that I found it again ...,"_ he whispered. Rachel opened her eyes and turned to him. "Unearthed in a box of stuff that was packed in my parents' attic in Norfolk …," he breathed, his voice soft and reflective. He blinked and sighed, "It still had my mom's handwriting on the side of it … _'TOM – NAVY'_ it said," he smiled weakly. Rachel inched closer and set her hand upon the plane of his cheek and he turned his face and kissed her palm. "I'm okay …," he said then, searching her eyes.

"I know you are," Rachel answered as she drew him closer. "You're healing, like everyone else … we do what we need to do … we're survivors …," she whispered, her thoughts migrating to the mantle in his bedroom … where his recovery belonged to him and was relatively private.

He smiled. "We are …," he whispered. "Many of us … because of you …," he sighed, his eyes suddenly glassy.

"Oh well ...," she whispered; her heart raced.

"And I'm not just talking about the cure …," he shook his head and blinked and so did she, desperate now to maintain her composure. Pushing her chin up, he leaned in and fixed his eyes to hers. "It's more than the cure for me, Rachel …," he sighed. "It's deep love … and admiration … and it has been, for years …," he whispered quickly. Her waiting tears fell and he kissed her lips, once, twice. "I love you … so much …," he declared, resting his forehead to hers.

Rachel smiled through her unruly emotions. "I love you too … and have for so long …," she replied softly, her voice quivering now. "It's just you … and this lifeline you tossed out to me, cure or no cure …," she whispered thickly, brushing her lips against his. "And the way you love me so quietly … and with so much dignity …," she rambled on. She kissed his mouth and blinked the balance of her tears into recession.

Tom smiled and brushed his thumbs along her damp cheeks. "I'm just glad you made it home … _here_ … where you belong, with me …," he murmured, smoothing her wild tresses away.

She held the intensity of his gaze. "Me too …," she answered, because it was the truth.

 _A comfortable silence consumed them then as they quietly basked in the joy of their reunion, wrapped around one another and their brand of connectivity, kissing, praising, caressing – safe and sound, and nestled deep inside his most treasured blanket on New Year's Day – a day that could have been like any other holiday … but it wasn't, because she found her way back to him … and they were finally home … together._

 **END**


	2. Coming Home - Happy Valentine's Day

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Author's Note: This chapter was added to participate in the Valentine's Day Extravaganza. Many thanks to tmtcltb for coordinating! Happy Valentine's Day to all. Enjoy!**

 **Coming Home – Happy Valentine's Day**

 _Rachel had been home for over a month, just shy of six weeks to be exact ... the longest and fulfilling amount of time she'd spent in one place in over five years. And in that time, she and Tom, the kids and Jed had fallen into a comfortable routine, one of undoubted peace and solitude after all they had endured to arrive at this pinnacle. A plateau of sorts made from deep relief and appreciation for one another and the small things in life that made it all so special. And therein, she felt like a survivor for the very first time – not the hailed creator of the cure – but rather a woman whom could finally appreciate where she stood now, alongside her loved ones ... whom also survived._

During the first several weeks at home, she spent a fair amount of her time catching up with her local Nathan James shipmates, overjoyed now to fully appreciate the legacies the cure left in its wake: _Mike and Christine and their healthy daughters, Danny and Kara and young Frankie, Tex and Kathleen ... a list that went on and on to include other marriages and engagements and even several babies._

And so it seemed that Michener was indeed correct – _growth and rebirth_ – truly were the pillars of what remained intact by the time they docked in St. Louis that day.

And it was in the name of those pillars now, that Rachel had begun to feel quite stymied. For after having spent what felt like a lifetime of effort eradicating the Red Flu, she recently began to feel quite beleaguered by her own judgment when it came to her purpose in life now. And Tom had warned her this would happen, for he experienced those feelings himself – _the insatiable need to fulfill a greater purpose_ – chief among them once he assumed his post working for Michener. For as he explained it, he felt disconnected – _uncertain of his place in society_ – as the Nathan James was in dry dock and his shipmates had dispersed far and wide in search of their families ( _or on assignment elsewhere_ ). Leaving him behind with an esoteric longing to _do_ more ... to be ... _more_.

And while Rachel identified with him, she wholeheartedly negated his sentiments and assured him, she was quite happy. She felt certain that she would need no more than him and the life they would build here, together. _Simple. Trusting. Fulfilled._ She truly wanted to savor these impressionable moments and evolve ... with him, for he had been her beacon of hope for so long and she was so happy to finally be _'home'_. Happy for once, to have nothing to save ... and more importantly, nothing to fear.

But as usual ( _which was so irritating_ ), Tom was correct. And she soon found she wanted to work, quite desperately in fact. She missed giving back to humanity ... and giving of herself ( _her only thing left to give_ ) and of her knowledge ( _the thing that made her unique_ ).

These culminating feelings came to a head just a few weeks ago following a conversation she and Tom had with Jeffrey Michener. Having just been elected for another term in office, Michener had invited them to his second inaugural ball, held on the twentieth of January. And while there, he surreptitiously introduced Rachel to a Dr. Richard Weaver, the Chief of Staff at nearby Barnes-Jewish Hospital.

 _###_

 _The evening was beautiful ... so vastly different (though no less important) than the inaugural 'ball' they attended four years prior. A small twinge of sadness pricked at her just then ... a trigger of sorts as she thought about how at odds she and Tom had been at that time, having yet to fully diffuse their stalemate over Neils Sorensen's death._

 _Both of them had been hard-headed in their viewpoints, though as time went on and the boundaries between them dissolved and old wounds were healed, Tom became privy to just how close she'd gotten to Sorensen to negotiate what she needed from him and how uncomfortable that made her feel (a set of facts he later admitted drove him mad with anger (at himself for boxing her into a corner like that)). And even years later, as they became closer and even closer still, they would come to stumble through those fleeting memories together ... memories of those darker times when they were estranged and quite immobilized by their differences._

 _And when those memories surfaced, she was transported back to that time and could more readily see just how precarious of a position she also put Tom in ... as a Captain. She hadn't thought about it at the time, how damaging breaches of security and safety could be on a war ship, where a clear leader must be strong and viable ... and trusted ... and in command without question. Order and discipline and Naval protocols existed for many reasons – first and foremost to avoid mutiny – a fact that all but slapped her in the face when she finally realized how Tom likely felt as a man of principle when Michener overrode his orders and dismantled those protocols when he simply included her in his list of pardons._

 _A fact Tom later admitted brought him some degree of solace ... this swift, impartial end to their impasse. Wherein he was able to breathe more easily as she left town, unencumbered to do her work and fulfill her greater destiny._

 _Absentmindedly now, she thought of all of this as she scanned the exquisitely decorated ballroom – the largest banquet hall of the old capital building – which now housed the Oval Office. They had been seated for dinner with Mike and Christine and Danny and Kara, the meal was lovely and now she was dancing ... with Tom impeccably handsome in his dress uniform – white with polished brass – his smile broad and disarming, their fit in one another's frames, still perfect. She moved flush against him then, inclining her head, she caught his eyes and quietly absorbed his happiness._

 _"I wondered when you'd find your way back to me," he said softly then as he drew her near, slowly navigating them off and to the side of the dance floor._

 _She smiled and followed his lead. "My mind was elsewhere ... Michener's first inauguration and beyond ...," she replied evenly._

 _He nodded, "Hard not to go there." He smiled. "Hmm ... and that dress ...," he whispered playfully, a hint of naughty sparkling in his eyes against the golden light._

 _She laughed. "And what of this dress?" she replied, the silken navy blue sheathe hugging her form._

 _Tom traced his fingertips against the delicate seam along her spine. "I like this one too ...," he sighed and quickly kissed the top of her hand – their fingers laced together – his opposite arm wrapped around her waist now._

 _"Me too," she whispered and everything became quiet between them for a good long moment._

 _His breath tickled her neck and he shifted. "I used to dream about you in that other one though ...," he whispered then and her pulse raced._

" _You did?" she breathed, her voice stacked._

 _"Hmm," he nodded. "You in that dress ... in the hallway that night ... and how I watched you walk off like that ...," he confessed, his voice deep ... intimate, slightly overcome._

 _"How did the dream end?" she wondered, quite lost within his aura now._

 _He smiled with his eyes. "Different endings ...," he sighed wistfully. "Sometimes ... I let you go and felt … optimistic … about how things were between us ...," he exhaled; his glassy eyes searched hers, back and forth._

 _Rachel raised her hand and traced her fingertips along his hairline. He smiled crookedly. Sensing his hesitation, she held him close and rested her cheek over his heart where she privately made sure of him. Ducking down, he met her gaze and she gently coaxed, "And other times?"_

 _He smiled weakly. "Other times, I would wake with a start ... and an undercurrent of uncertainty would linger about how safe I imagined you would be out there alone …," he said quickly. "Off the James ... and without me …... the crew ...," he breathed; his brow furrowed._

" _I was all right …," she assured. "You knew that … we were all right," she said quietly. "And were there other endings too?" she probed gently then, for she just couldn't help herself._

" _Hmm, yes …," he nodded with a small reflective smile. "There were times when I didn't let you go at all ...," he swallowed hard and searched her eyes. "When I gave you that enthusiastic embrace you wanted … the contagious cure … such a blessing to so many …," he rambled on._

 _Stunned, she blinked. "Oh?" she breathed, her heart suddenly alighted as if a milestone was met. "And where did that leave us?" she wondered._

 _He blinked and pressed his lips together. "As much as I wasn't ready for you ... and me ... and this thing between us ...," he breathed. "I held you close and dared myself to kiss you anyway ...," he exhaled, his eyes shining._

 _"I see ...," she breathed, suddenly hinged upon his every word. "And then?" she whispered, holding his gaze, intense, all-seeing, blue, clear._

 _"We always stayed right there together ...," he went on. "Suspended in time, somewhere deep within my mind's eye ... a distant dream …," he whispered._

 _She nodded, at a loss for words. He smiled and bent down, his lips pressed to her neck for a split-second – a rare display of intimacy in a public forum – for it was acts of intimacy that they soon realized the general populace was interested in. To the rest of the free world they were Captain Thomas Chandler and Dr. Rachel Scott … deliverer and creator of the cure … rumored to be a couple for many years over by now. And as much as those rumors were true, their relationship was still … new, coveted … and rather private._

 _"Those were the best endings, by the way ...," he whispered into her ear then, his voice, deep and calming and familiar._

 _The fine hairs on her neck bristled and her heart raced. "Oh, love ... and see, we ended up here ... finally together ... and so very happy," she smiled. "A dream come true ...," she declared softly. Leaning up, she pressed a chaste kiss to the smooth plane of his cheek (another display of affection) and held her palm there._

" _Yeah, it is ...," he whispered and leaned into her touch._

 _###_

 _Rachel took a small bite of her cake and savored the decadent treat, her diet, having enhanced greatly since arriving home, a stark variance when compared to the simplicity of the meals she ate whilst trailing the cure. She took another bite and privately watched Mike with Christine. He looked fantastic, she decided then_ _–_ _much like the man he might have been a long time ago_ _–_ _perhaps as a newlywed, from the way he was so enamored by his wife. And from as far as she could tell, that amorous energy was reciprocal, for it seemed Christine was just as smitten with him._

 _Rachel smiled now, noticing those subtle changes in Mike that Tom had mentioned over the years. Recalling his reports that Mike's more austere demeanor had diminished and therein he had become more grounded ... happy ... humble. He even went so far as to say, that perhaps_ _–_ _in their case –the separation he and Christine experienced ... their hardships and the way they fought to get back to one another had somehow done wonders for their marriage and ultimate connectivity. Their reunion was solidifying. Meant to be. Written in the stars somewhere._

 _And seeing them now, so happy, with their sublime affection, almost contagious ... Rachel had to agree: they were something else._

 _Christine's laugh floated between them just then as Mike raised his brow and forked the whipped cream off of the top of her cake. She made a feisty sidelong glance at him, titling her head – her rosy complexion, accented by her burgundy dress – her dark hair falling across her face akin to a veil as she whispered to him. He laughed in response and pushed his plate toward her, untouched ... as if he were sparring. Rachel felt a smile form on her face about the time Mike looked up and caught her eyes._

 _"Pumpkin cheesecake ...," he smiled tightly. "A perfect ... economical ... choice for a crowd this size ...," he enunciated slowly, mischief in his eyes._

 _"Not your favorite?" Rachel prompted with a wry grin. "It's delightful, I think ...," she added._

 _"That's what I said!" Christine smirked. "I think it's pretty good actually," she smiled. "The era of global availability and elegance when it comes to food preparation, is gone ... for now at least," she remarked with a sigh._

 _Mike smiled broadly and looked around the table. "I still won the bet," he declared._

 _Christine giggled and found his eyes, "Of course you did."_

 _Tom deadpanned, "Do I even want to know?"_

 _Christine exhaled. "I foolishly bet a week's worth of dishes on what tonight's dessert would be ... but in my defense, he got to go first!" she exclaimed with a smile. "And he picked pumpkin, of course ... because it's just coming off the season," she went on and then turned to Mike. "You're so practical it's nauseating ... and frustrating!" she admonished playfully._

 _Mike chuckled. "I said never mind about the bet," he laughed, egging her on._

 _"You did ...," she smiled, leaning in. "You're a good sport too ... completely frustrating ... annoyingly accurate with predictions, but –"_

 _"You'll keep me," he smiled, cutting her off._

 _"I will," she breathed and Rachel could tell she meant it._

 _Danny chuckled, "Remember when you could get strawberries year-round?"_

 _The party-goers collectively sighed and then all was silent between them for a moment while each considered the ideas of simple pleasures and the ease by which they found, purchased, produced what they needed in life before the virus struck._

 _"The world was much smaller ...," Kara ruminated quietly. Danny nodded in assent. "Everything was transported from far and wide ... and no one ever gave it a second thought," she mused._

 _Her face fell and Danny casually draped his arm around her. She turned to him and smiled where they quietly made sure of one another. "Life's definitely different ...," he acknowledged. "But ... for us, especially us, here at this table ...," he glanced up. "It's pretty great at the moment ... Doc's back ... finally ... and the virus is gone for good," he smiled handsomely at Rachel. "Plus ... Frankie's learning to read," he added with a smirk._

 _"It is pretty great," Kara breathed, her bouncing eyes pinned to his now._

 _Tom smiled, "It is." He nodded with appreciation. "There really is something nostalgic to all of this though ...," he said then. "Locally grown pumpkins used for the dessert at the President's Inaugural Ball? And for this many people?" he surmised. "Not too bad for this stage in the game," he asserted with a tight smile._

 _"I'll give you that," Mike nodded in agreement, his eyes scanning the room. "Nice party too," he sighed and held his wine glass up. "Welcome home again, Rachel ...," he said and his smile reached his eyes. The group raised their glasses with him, "Here's to another great four years."_

 _"Here, here!" came Michener's jovial voice then as he sauntered up. He smiled broadly, flanked by one of his aids and another gentleman._

 _"It's a lovely party, Sir," Kara smiled._

 _"Yes, it's been an evening of celebration for all," Jeffrey agreed. He smiled at the gentleman. "I would like to introduce you all to Dr. Richard Weaver, the new Chief of Staff over at Barnes-Jewish Hospital," he announced._

 _###_

And it had been that introduction that put her here, now in Dr. Weaver's office on the fifth floor of the historic Barnes Hospital building ( _later named Barnes-Jewish/Washington University Hospital via a merger_ ). With its towering, impressive facade that had indeed stood the test of time since 1912, Rachel definitely got the sense of its rich history and the institution it had become. She sighed and absentmindedly listened to Weaver's secretary, Peggy, as she informed callers that the good doctor was coming out of a meeting and going straight into another ... _hers_.

Over the last couple of weeks, Rachel met with Weaver on two prior occasions – _once, as she toured the hospital with him and the other, for breakfast at the hospital cafe_ – at which time he informed her of his plan to persuade her to join the high caliber staff at the prestigious teaching hospital. A detailed plan, which involved a round of intense fundraising efforts on both their parts and would fund a state-of-the-art research lab, which she in turn, would head up. And while she could easily do without the necessary evils of fundraising, the truth of it was, the entire set-up sounded more like a dream come true than a job.

And so, after discussing the broader points of the plan with Tom, Jed and even the children – _Rachel had decided to take him up on his offer_ – with one small caveat: _that high school seniors be permitted to take advantage of the lab too._ For after having met several of Ashley and Sam's friends – _it was abundantly clear to her that their generation definitely had a keen eye for the sciences_ – virology being at the top of many of their lists. Which, given the circumstances of their childhoods thus far, made perfect sense to Rachel ... after all, losing her own mother to malaria was at the very nucleus of why she so tenaciously followed her chosen career path.

 _Somewhat confident Weaver would agree to this term, she was suddenly very excited for their meeting. She stood and approached the window_ – _the view overlooking the park beyond the grounds_ – _most of the trees naked; the cold wind whipping up and against the grand old building. She sighed restlessly and turned around, standing at the right side of his desk now, where she made note of several framed portraits of his family._

 _There was one of Dr. Weaver with his wife in black-tie attire,_ _her neck, long and regal_ – _his hand at the small of her back where he held her_ – _their eyes crinkled with happiness. The photo was definitely older, his hair, longer and not yet speckled with gray as it was now. Next, she focused on a striking photograph of two teenagers, a boy and a girl (presumably his), probably about the same age as Ashley and Sam. She felt a smile form on her face_ – _unable to look away from the duo as she contemplated their personalities_ – _a display of handsome traits just like their father and mother: earthy brown locks, curious gray-blue eyes, high cheek bones and genuine, easy smiles._

 _She blinked and intuitively said a small prayer for the family now_ – _not to anyone in particular, more akin to a mantra of sorts_ – _one where she would simply hope for their longevity ... for their ultimate survival. For she had learned long ago not to inquire of the families of new acquaintances. Given the odds, the outlook was typically bleak, at best, that an entire family would have made it through the outbreak unscathed._

Exhaling on this scientific truth, she stepped closer and scrutinized the portraits in search of a date stamp ... something ... _anything_ , that might give her a clue as to their current health and well-being. Unfortunately, she saw nothing that indicated the photos were taken post-outbreak and reluctantly resigned herself to the fact that she would eventually learn of their fates. Stepping away, she turned back to the window and repeated her mantra.

 _"So sorry to have kept you waiting, Dr. Scott,"_ came Dr. Weaver's chipper voice.

Rachel looked toward the door whereupon she was met with his charming smile as he entered his office, his arms laden with a stack of file folders. "No apology necessary, duty calls ... and you must use Rachel ... drop the Scott," she replied with a smile and stepped forward.

"Yes ... yes ... and Rich ... all right?" he chuckled and gestured to a small table where he set his files down. "Please, have a seat." She snagged her bag from a nearby chair and joined him. He took his lab coat off, white and pressed, and hung it on the back of his chair. "I hope you've come with good news, Rachel ...," he smiled, his gray eyes moving across hers.

Rachel smiled too. "I have, Rich," she nodded.

"Really?" he asked, his eyes suddenly teeming with excitement.

She chuckled. "Yes ... with one caveat –"

"Anything," he cut her off with a grin.

"You're quick," she chuckled.

"I aim to please," he smiled. "Name your condition," he requested smoothly.

"Well ... in the spirit of this teaching institution, I would also like to open the lab – _the study of virology, specifically_ – to high school seniors," she stated evenly. Rich smiled. "Over the years, many teenagers I have met have shown a keen interest in science of virology ...," she nodded.

"I like this idea ...," he mused. "And your observations make sense ... I've always likened this occurrence to that of a sickly child growing up to become a doctor," he smiled.

"Yes ... those early influences are footholds ... good or bad it seems ...," she exhaled, her thoughts migrating to her mother's untimely death, the very impetus that drove her to search for answers of life's unsolved mysteries.

A comfortable silence passed between them then and Rachel let him be. He came out of his thoughts and she smiled at him. "I have one such teen at home, you know ... my son, Michael ...," he smiled reflectively. He looked away briefly. "He never showed an interest in medicine or science as a child ... he was always tinkering and my ... my late wife and I had pegged him as an engineer of some sort ... until the outbreak ...," he disclosed softly.

Rachel's heart stilled. "I'm truly sorry for your loss ...," she offered sincerely, another piece of herself falling down and away as she thought about his lovely wife. She blinked her reflexive tears back.

He looked up and caught her eyes where he held her inside the moment, "You did the best you could."

She nodded in assent. "It was a race against time," she offered lamely.

"Yes ... one that you won ... for many future generations ... and I suppose that's what this lab is all about," he soothed. He looked away again, his eyes gliding along the bookshelf. "For my wife and daughter – _sometimes I just let myself believe it wasn't meant to be_ – perhaps their survival wasn't predestined ...," he reasoned aloud.

Rachel's heart pinched her somewhere familiar with a pang of regret that cloaked her now and again. She smiled weakly. "One of the questions I am often asked by survivors is ... are they immune ...," she breathed – _the awfulness of the label still haunting her_ – the craziness of the Ramsey's ... perpetually there as an undercurrent of evil now.

Rich nodded in assent, "I've wondered about that myself." He sighed. "And it makes sense that survivors might want to know what spared them – _not in the natural phenomenon as suggested by The Immune's campaign_ – but simply as an answer as to why ... why their families and not them ...," he breathed.

"Yes ...," she sighed. "We could offer such a genetic test ...," she thought aloud. "Not at first ... but ... eventually, perhaps ... to offer the closure some people need," she sighed.

"Excellent ... I think donors would be extremely interested in that offering, especially a test designed by you –"

"Rich ...," she interrupted with a sigh. Exhaling, she searched for the right words. "Is that truly relevant as a selling point? That it be designed by me?" she asked quietly.

He chuckled, "I'm afraid it is." He tilted his head and regarded her then. "I know you would prefer that wasn't the case," he said softly.

She smiled weakly. "That much is true, yes ... I wasn't alone in that fight," she reminded him. Her mind suddenly wild. She shook her head, "There are times when all of this ... _interest_ in my life is a bit hard to reconcile."

He nodded in assent, his weathered eyes searching hers now. "It comes down to intrigue," he said then. "Your story is what people are so interested in – _what motivates you, how you fought so tenaciously for the Nathan James_ – what the public knows of your childhood and how you overcame your own tragedies ... it's all pretty remarkable –"

"Well, any journal or article could answer those inquiries," she quickly pointed out and looked away.

 _"Yes ... I suppose so,"_ he was saying now. She turned back to him. "But ... it goes beyond that, I think, beyond the magazine articles," he appealed to her senses. "It's the personal angle people want to explore – _their need to thank you in person_ – is of utmost importance to some ...," he sighed heavily. "At least that was how it was for me when I heard you had arrived back here in St. Louis ...," he admitted candidly. She watched him falter.

"And therein lies the hardest part, for me ...," she disclosed, holding his gaze. "I wish ... I _always_ wish I could have spared more ... that the Navy would have listened earlier ... that the Nathan James didn't come under fire the way she did ...," she rambled on, her heart suddenly racing.

He smiled and found her eyes, "I'm sure it's daunting ... more tiresome than I can imagine."

"At times, it is ...," she breathed.

"I appreciate your candor, Rachel ...," he said then. "Jeffrey spoke of your passion quite admirably," he complimented.

"Well, we went through quite a bit together – _once he arrived on the James_ – things were confusing for him ... and for me ... we were both dealing with unfathomable circumstances and he was a source of support I needed at the time ...," she replied elusively with a thoughtful smile as she spoke of her friend and ally ... one of the first believers in the contagious cure and just how powerful it could be.

Rich nodded, "I know ... and it's those stories, the struggles, we mustn't forget." He smiled handsomely. "And ... I hope this goes without saying, but I'll be right there with you, cheering you on and supporting you."

"Yes, I know this all very admirable ... and the reason why, I must say _'yes'_ to this next part of the journey ...," she smiled.

 _###_

Later Rachel sat across from Kara in a small cafe near the old capital building. The menu was simple and the furnishings, a hodgepodge of pieces, but the vibe was peaceful and the place was usually quiet. They had been meeting like this, just the two of them, every other week since she returned home. And their time together was enjoyable and lighthearted – _though,_ _the unique bond of their friendship (the tenuous circumstances in which they crossed paths) was always there_ – under the surface, quiet and unassuming ... like an unexplained energy that was still searching for its final resting place. And therein Rachel came to fully appreciate that those months spent chasing the cure and fighting for their lives had changed who they were ... and what they had become ... and how they handled everyday life, even now, after so many years.

 _"So when do you think you'll get the contract?"_ Kara was saying now as Rachel focused on her again.

"Looks like it will be sometime tomorrow," she answered; she felt a reflective smile form upon her face ... _she was excited_.

Kara took a sip of her tea. "Nice Valentine's Day gift," she said with a smile.

Whereupon Rachel felt the color drain from her face. "Oh ... _crap_ ... Valentine's Day ...," her mind went blank.

Kara giggled, clearly amused. "Not on your radar?" she smirked.

"Honestly," Rachel snorted. "I haven't thought about Valentine's Day in _years_ ...," she admitted, her heart racing, her mind on overdrive with the implications of what this might mean ... or not mean to Tom.

"Why do you look like you're on the verge of a full blown freak out?" Kara chortled playfully.

"Because I _am_ on the verge of a full blown freak out!" Rachel exclaimed in a low whisper. She felt her cheeks rise with heat. Kara giggled. "See ... this is why I'm no good at relationships ... I have no idea what to do!" she fretted. "I have no idea what he wants, doesn't want ... does he like this sort of thing ... or no? I should _know_ these things and instead ... I'm focused on this business about the lab ...," she rambled on and on, quite breathless now. Kara sat back and chuckled. Rachel raised her brow. "Not helping," she exhaled, at a complete loss.

"Well ... clearly you need some guidance," Kara offered practically.

Rachel breathed, "No kidding."

"Have the kids mentioned anything?" she pressed on casually.

"No ... not to me," Rachel shook her head.

"Maybe they're not big on it ...," she offered, her green eyes sympathetic, understanding.

"That doesn't mean they once were ... before everything else happened ...," Rachel thought aloud, pondering ideas of what Tom and Darien might have done for one another and the children.

Kara paused. "It's quite a unique situation."

"I could consult with Jed ...," Rachel suggested, her thoughts still circulating around what might have been long ago.

"Yes, brilliant!" Kara said happily. "Danny and I used to joke, quite frequently, in fact – _when in doubt, consult Jed_ – he knows something about _everything_ ... it used to make my Mom so mad when we'd go to him ...," she chuckled with an undercurrent of relief.

"Yes ... I think when the children come in this afternoon, I'll consult with them too," she planned. "Try to avoid uncomfortable feelings ... and old memories ...," she sighed heavily, _such a conundrum_. "What do you do with Danny?" she asked then, switching gears.

Kara smiled. "I remember that first year ... after we settled here, I was hugely pregnant still ... and everything was pretty bleak ...," she recalled, her eyes flecked with gold all of a sudden. "And I was an amateur in that department ...," she confessed. "A lot like you when it came to relationships – _my indiscretions aside, I was all about my career when we left Norfolk_ – before everything ...," she exhaled, her mind elsewhere for a beat. She looked up and smiled.

Rachel smiled, "I do know that."

"Thankfully, I guess ... Danny's pretty much a hopeless romantic…," she laughed breathlessly.

"I had no idea," Rachel smiled.

Kara nodded. "He likes for dreams to come true," she whispered fervently. "And much like that first February – _when he made a big deal about formally setting our wedding date_ – he usually plans a grand gesture of some sort, you know ...," she went on softly, twirling her wedding band around her finger now.

Rachel distractedly watched her friend as she reminisced about Valentine's Days while the flicker of an idea began to percolate. "What did you just say?" she asked of her then.

"I let Danny plan everything ...," Kara answered, her brow knitted.

"No ... before that," Rachel answered, her mind wild again.

"He likes to make dreams come true?" Kara prompted, her brow knitted.

Rachel smiled. "Yes ... yes ... precisely ... and now I actually have an idea ...," she sighed with a modicum of relief.

 _###_

 _That afternoon, after Ashley and Sam had peppered her with questions about her meeting with Weaver, they all ventured into the kitchen for a small snack before the children would invariably disappear into their rooms for hours to complete homework or listen to music ... or to draw, in Sam's case._

Rachel admittedly listened to their idle chit chat more carefully than usual, her curiosity piqued after her earlier discussion with Kara. Aside for Ashley's invitation to Monica's to watch classic romance films and make cookies ( _and Sam's utter disregard for that idea completely_ ), no one made mention of anything with respect to their feelings with regards to the _'holiday'_. Which left her with no choice but to broach the subject.

She cleared her throat, "I'm curious about something." The trio looked to her. "May I ask you all what might be an unusual question?" she ventured then. "Well, unusual for some ... but given our circumstances ... well, maybe it's not ...," she sighed and found herself somewhat stymied by the journey through uncharted territory.

Jed looked up from a cutting board, "I think it's safe to say, our circumstances put us here together ... and unusual or not ... this is where I think we were meant to end up." He smiled and went back to cutting vegetables.

"I would agree," Rachel pursed her lips together.

Sam took a big bite of his sandwich and smiled at her with his eyes; he gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up. If it was possible, he seemed taller and broader than he was when he left for school this morning.

Ashley giggled and swiped a carrot from a small tray of vegetables. "So?" she prompted, her more serious eyes softer around the edges.

Rachel smiled, "I was reminded today, that tomorrow is Valentine's Day ...," she said softly. Sam looked up. "And then I got to thinking ... I have no idea how you both feel about that day, and if it might bring unwarranted sadness to the surface." She inhaled sharply, "And I'm also concerned as to how your father might feel ... or what, if anything he might want to do ... or not do." Her heart raced slightly. "I have an idea, which is strange because I'm not an overly romantic person, you see ... but again, I wanted to consult with you first ... hear how you feel about the day, in general."

Ashley took another carrot and offered, "With how everything has been over the last few years, I'm not sure if any of us gave it much thought."

"Yeah ...," Sam nodded in agreement. "Even at school, it hasn't been a priority, teachers haven't made a big deal out of it ...," he added thoughtfully.

Rachel smiled, "Of course ... a sensitive subject and quite trivial to boot." She continued her probe, "And what of your father?" She felt uneasy. "I don't want to resurface old memories, though ... that's quite impossible, really isn't it ...," she uncharacteristically rambled. "This idea I have was brought on by something Kara said today that reminded me of something your father said to me a couple of weeks ago."

"I'm sure whatever your idea is, it will be fine ... just go with your instincts ...," Jed offered smoothly. "They're usually spot on, Dr. Scott," he chided gently.

"That's good advice," Ashley smiled. She took another carrot.

"It is," Sam endorsed.

 _Rachel nodded and took a green bean from the platter. She took a bite; it tasted sweet and fresh. She thought about the finer details of her idea. It was an exciting prospect. But she still felt nervous and uncertain._

"May I ask ... what your parents did for you ... or for one another?" she persisted gently.

There was a small window of silence before Sam chortled, "Remember Ash, Mom used to make those heart-shaped peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?"

Ashley nodded, her eyes suddenly bouncing. She turned to Rachel. "She used to write notes to us too and stick them in our lunches ... love notes, lots of them ...," she sighed wistfully.

"Sounds positively lovely," Rachel smiled.

 _She sat back now and listened to the children as they reminisced about Valentine's Days of the past and the special little things Darien did to make those days special, even when Tom was deployed, which was a great deal of the time. She stood and joined Jed at the island where she watched over them from afar, admiring them now as she found herself doing from time to time. They truly were fantastic young adults. Jed raised his glass of tea and she held his steady gaze. She smiled and so did he, after all, this had been what she was searching for all along ... insight into their childhood ... their lives ... and Tom's._

"Rachel ...," Sam turned to her, his serious eyes happy. "I think my Dad ... was a little more … _private_ … about his plans than my Mom was ...," he offered then.

"Yeah ... he was," Ashley agreed. "Usually, if he was going to be deployed ... he would leave something for Mom ... like a necklace ... something small ... and a note of course," she went on.

Rachel smiled. "Thank you for sharing with me," she replied, again so proud of these kids.

"So ... what is your idea?" Sam asked of her.

Rachel smiled. "To make an old dream of your father's come true," she exhaled.

"I like when dreams come true," Ashley declared then.

"It would involve my taking him overnight ... if that's all right with the both of you," she blinked, her cheeks heated. Ashley smirked.

"You're excited," Sam stated evenly with a smile that reached his eyes.

"I am," she admitted candidly.

 _###_

Rachel sighed and slipped into bed. It was very late and Tom was called into an unexpected meeting, so she found herself alone. The house was quiet. And dark. And soothing … and safe. She turned the bedside lamp off and inhaled sharply, the space, the bed linens – _cloaked in their familiar essence_ – were a source of great comfort. She smiled in recollection now, for quite suddenly after that first night she spent with Tom – _she realized how sleep evaded her without him –_ puzzling, considering she spent most of her adult life sleeping alone. And so she accepted that nights such as these were tiresome and invariably she would wait up for him. It was all so domestic ... and lovely.

Attempting to relax now, she took another cleansing breath and closed her eyes on the moonlit room – _her thoughts adrift to the events of the later afternoon and evening_ – she breathed again, another attempt to quell the unexpected excitement strumming through her body now.

 _###_

 _Following a brief phone call with Kara to aid her in making some more concrete arrangements for tomorrow, Rachel enjoyed an hour or so of garden work alongside Jed. Since her arrival, the plot that would become the vegetable garden, had begun to take shape. It was located in the far back corner of the yard where a small clearing was situated, surely open enough that ample sun would cascade onto the plot come spring and summer._

 _The pair had worked in silence for the most part – she lost in her thoughts on tomorrow's surprise – and he, likely at peace, though she could tell there was something broader on his mind ... as was typical with him. Rachel sighed and pushed her hair back with her forearm. She was warm, but not overly so, having donned a fleece hoodie and a pair of work gloves. Her toes were cold but the sun was in its final descent so they would head inside soon enough._

 _"Hand me that rake, would you?" Jed called to her then._

 _She smiled and moved to hand him the tool. "It's truly lovely back here," she said, her eyes gliding over the clearing and then through the thick perimeter of trees, the Victorian steeple of the house barely visible from her viewpoint._

 _Jed stopped working and agreed, "It is."_

 _Rachel surveyed the rectangular plot: crisp corners, fresh earth. She thought of Jed's seed choices and the hearty vegetables he planned to grow. She turned around again and inclined her head, feeling the slight warmth from the sun as it shone upon her face. She closed her eyes and listened to the quiet rustle of the wind as it moved through the fir trees._

 _Opening her eyes, she smiled at Jed. She thought of Dr. Weaver and of their plans for the lab. Their plans of growth and forward movement ... and of the necessary closure they spoke of. The wind whipped up and pushed against her back. She inhaled sharply and looked at the ground on which she stood and could almost feel the start of something new here ... quite literally under her feet. She turned toward the house and set her eyes upon the very top of the steeple ... her homestead, with the man she loved so deeply._

 _She thought of the kids, inside ... completing homework assignments, listening to music. She thought of their maturity and of their loveliness. She thought of Darien ... and her love notes ... and of her legacy too. And then quite suddenly ... she wanted more for Ashley and Sam. She wanted to build something with them ... for them. And then she was struck with an idea._

 _"What do you think of building a gazebo ... over there?" she said suddenly._

 _Jed smiled broadly, "I like that idea. A lot."_

 _"Nothing elaborate ... perhaps Sam could draw something up ...," she thought aloud._

 _"I bet he could," he nodded in assent. He stepped closer and inclined his head. "Nice family project," he enunciated slowly._

 _Rachel watched his eyes become glassy. She pressed her lips together. "I just want to build a life with them ... build some memories ... plant seeds ...," she sighed heavily._

 _"Makes perfect sense to me," Jed exhaled. "You know, you're doing just fine, right?" he prodded gently._

 _"I suppose ...," she answered. "I want them to be happy ... to have happy memories of this time in their lives too," she smiled weakly._

 _"They already do," he nodded. "Since you've been home ... I can tell they're more fulfilled," he smiled. "They've watched their father become happy again, overnight ... and that was a tremendous cue," he asserted._

 _"Oh ...," she smiled at him, her cheeks suddenly hot, "How is it that you always know the right thing to say?" she breathed._

 _"A lifetime of practice," he smiled. "Don't worry, Rachel ... you'll figure out your own traditions ... your own version of love notes and heart-shaped sandwiches," he intuited wisely._

' _Tom was happy',this was the singular thought that grounded her like no other. Rachel blinked her emotions back and away from the surface. She exhaled and looked beyond the clearing toward the horizon and thought about traditions and what they meant to her. She didn't want to replace Darien, of course ... but she did want to continue providing happy memories for her children._

 _"What if ... we got a sapling ... a fruit-baring tree of some sort, for Valentine's Day?" she wondered then. "We could plant it in the springtime ...," she whispered, her heart pinching her just so._

 _Jed draped his arm along Rachel's shoulders then, "You know, you're something else."_

 _She laughed and felt her eyes crinkle around the edges with happiness, "And so are you."_

 _###_

She stirred at those memories and hugged her pillow tighter now – _the wind picked up outside and the old house creaked slightly_ – the faint sound of rushing water suddenly there too, drawing her from her slumber wherein she realized it was the shower. She opened her heavy eyes then and focused on the well-lit outline of the bathroom door and settled deeper into the confines of the linens. Allowing herself to truly relax now because Tom was home. Safe and sound.

Sleep would come easily now and even more so as her lover soon slipped into bed and sidled up against her, his lips pressed to her neck, his body cradling hers ... always a perfect fit.

"Hi love," she whispered, rolling into his heat, she pressed her lips to the underside of his neck and peered up to him.

"Hey ...," he smiled, finding her gaze in the dark before he kissed her, _once, twice_.

Her heavy eyes closed and she settled into the warmth of his embrace, he laced his legs through hers. "I'm happy you're home," she whispered.

He pressed his lips to her crown. "Me too ... hear anything from Weaver?" he asked quietly.

"Not yet ...," she replied. "Details to come tomorrow," she sighed.

He hunkered deeper into the linens with her. "Everything else all right ... are the kids okay?" he asked then, his voice low ... _hesitant_.

"Yes ... why?" she asked, her eyes open again, she inclined her head.

He found her in the darkness again and smiled, "No reason ... except for a cryptic email from Ashley, reminding me about ... tomorrow."

Rachel breathed, "Valentine's Day."

"Yes …," he muttered before he kissed her, slow and easy; her toes curled. "And that you …... might have something in the works."

Rachel's heart raced, she smiled and held his gaze, looking for signs of duress though nothing materialized. "I do ... if that's all right ...," she exhaled breathlessly.

He smiled. "It's quite all right," he sighed. "I wouldn't have pegged you for a Valentine's Day type of woman though ...," he chortled.

Rachel laughed, "I'm not ... but you've ruined me."

Tom chuckled deeply, "Glad to do it."

She leaned up and kissed him soundly then, her body suddenly beneath his – _followed by a flurry of his caresses and kisses_ – touches and tickles everywhere all at once until he husked, "I love you."

Wherein she held him and caressed him with equal fervor, her lips anchored to his pulse, "I love you too."

 _Heavy with sleep now, she inhaled his essence – shampoo and toothpaste – and listened for the expire of a long sigh from him, his breathing steady ... familiar ... home. And then all was black and deep and endless. And as it should be._

 _###_

 _Tom shifted, rousing Rachel from the depths of sleep. She opened her eyes; the room was dark, though predawn light filtered in through the curtains. She found his lazy eyes, he smiled and so did she. Leaning up, she brushed her lips against his pulse, breathing him in as he held her close and dawn slowly broke._

 _"So ... what exactly is the plan for tonight?"_ he asked of her, his voice still laden with sleep; his warm lips pressed to her halo.

She wrapped her arms around him; chasing his heat and the refuge that went along with it. "I thought we would spend a short time with the children and your father in the late afternoon ...," she exhaled and traced her fingertips along his ribcage, up and down. "Then head out ... alone ...," she whispered; her plan sounded elusive, even to her.

He laced his legs through hers and she looked up, balancing her chin on his chest. "You're secretive ...," he deemed; his sleepy eyes dancing.

"I am ... but for good reason," she laughed breathlessly.

"Still ironing out the details?" he teased.

"Something like that," she quipped. "Though, I've worked it out with your father to head down to the Robertson farm today to purchase a fruit tree ... a sapling ...," she whispered, her eyes scanning his.

"For the clearing back there, near the vegetable garden?" he queried. She nodded with a small smile. "Sounds like a nice addition ...," he surmised evenly.

"Yes ...," Rachel leaned up, supporting herself on her elbow. "Tell me what you really think of the idea? Will the children like that?" she asked, setting her hand upon his chest.

He smiled and stared at her for a beat, his lips pressed together. He traced his fingertips along her hairline and she leaned into his touch. "You're planting seeds ... roots ... _trees_ ... with my family …," he sighed wistfully, his eyes dark, intensely blue and faceted with an array of emotions now.

She closed the small distance between them and kissed the handsome plane of his cheek. "I am," she declared evenly.

Tom's face lit up, "Then I love that idea."

 _###_

Later that morning, she paced along her circuit in the front room of the house as Dr. Weaver outlined the details of his kickoff for their fundraising campaign, set to begin on March first with a plan to host an event in mid-April.

 _"I think a dinner at a hotel downtown here, would be the way to go – small, but formal – we'll do a price per seat, per couple and per table ...,"_ he planned aloud.

Rachel nodded in assent. "How many people did you have in mind?" she asked of him, cringing slightly in response, for she truly hated the _'dog and pony shows'_ of fundraising.

 _"I don't know ... seventy-five to one hundred guests, hopefully with deep enough pockets ...,"_ he ventured casually.

"That many?" she queried. Her chest tightened. She stopped and looked through the window.

 _"Well, with you as our guest of honor ... that's actually a low range,"_ he chortled. _"And if Tom was to be there too, well ... that would certainly raise the intrigue,"_ he went on. Rachel exhaled and turned on her heel, her eyes flicking around the comfortable room; she suddenly felt trapped. _"Are you there?"_ he prompted after another minute.

"Yes … my apologies ...," she said into the line; her heart raced.

 _"I sense your hesitation,"_ he prodded gently.

 _Overwhelmed with the possibility of the lab, her work – taking over her personal life (as usual) – she felt she should take pause now ... and hesitate. For after everything she had been through ... and Tom and the children too – she owed it to herself, and to them – to focus her energy on maintaining a healthy work-life balance ... on planting those seeds!_

 _And regardless of having already hashed these issues out with the family and deciding to commit to Weaver – when push came to shove – it already felt like too much._ _She turned on her heel again and walked straight into the kitchen. She put the kettle on and glanced to Jed. He nodded in assent, his eyes calm and clear, just like Tom's._

 _"Rachel?"_ Weaver prompted; hesitant now.

"Yes ... I'm here Rich …... and feeling slightly overwhelmed," she admitted candidly.

 _"It's been a long journey for you, Rachel ... and to be in such high demand for so long, I know it has come with a hefty price tag ...,"_ he acknowledged.

"Yes ... though par for the course, I suppose," she exhaled. The kettle came to a slow boil and started to whistle. She turned the heat off and dropped a chamomile tea bag into her cup. She pulled a chair out and sat down opposite Jed. He smiled. She exhaled and continued, "What if we were to host a series of smaller dinners instead?"

 _"Go on ...,"_ came Rich's prompt, a hint of intrigue there too.

Rachel cupped her hands around the hot mug, the essence of soothing chamomile wafted up and into the air. "Well ... if we did … we could increase the price per seat – _make it even more intimate_ – truth be told, I tend to get shuffled around quite a lot at larger affairs or town hall meetings …," she explained.

 _"I see …,"_ Rich commented.

"I have found that guests like to divulge in my audience … even overshare, at times …," she explained. "And honestly, as much as it all makes me so sad – _I feel I have to listen_ – take the time to hear them out …," she breathed, her heart racing now. There was a lull, silence on the line as Rich contemplated her input. "Now you're the one hesitating …," she finally said.

" _No … just … in awe of you a little bit …,"_ he answered, surprising her.

"Oh … well …," she exhaled, her voice trailing off. She took a sip of her tea.

" _Your_ _reputation truly precedes you, Rachel … you're sharp, quick … and sensitive …,"_ he went on.

"You know, I didn't always have that reputation …," she replied, smiling at Jed.

" _No?"_ Rich queried.

"No …," she shook her head. "For most of my career, I was pretty cutthroat … I was on a mission as I mentioned …," she sighed.

" _Yes … although, I think it's safe to say, your life has put you on this path … and right now, your trajectory landed you here …,"_ he breathed. _"I like your idea … bigger doesn't always have to be better, you'll have to remind of that, every now and again,"_ he chuckled.

Rachel smiled. "I will," she agreed. "And I must say, I'm glad for it … to have ended up here," she smiled. Jed tilted his head and raised his coffee mug. Rachel smiled at him.

" _It'll be worth it, Rachel,"_ Rich said fervently.

"It will," she agreed. "To have this chance to build something with you while I immerse myself in family life with Tom … and the children … yes, I think we're on to something here," she smiled and raised her cup in a toast with Jed.

 _###_

 _The sun was making its slow descent and the wind wasn't terribly cold yet as Rachel walked with Ashley and Sam to the clearing at the back of the property where they would join Tom and Jed for their Valentine's Day celebration. She had changed into black jeans and boots with a festive, deep crimson wool sweater, her black pea coat over top was unbuttoned._

 _A short while ago, she set up a small table with some treats, including the cookies Jed had baked whilst she was gone with Kara to finalize her preparations for her evening with Tom. Sam smiled crookedly at her now; he carried an oversized thermos of his special hot cocoa with him ... a hint of mischief in his eyes._

"Here we are," Rachel sang as they emerged from the folds of the last fir tree.

Tom was standing alone at the table. He looked dashing, she decided then – _having changed after coming home from work_ – he had donned a pair of dark blue jeans; the collar of his blue button down shirt accentuating his eyes as it peeked out from beneath his bomber jacket. Jed was positioned at the corner of the boundary fence behind the vegetable garden. He smiled broadly from beneath his baseball cap as he connected the switch of the holiday lights they had strung along the top of the fence there ... and in an instant, the garden was no less than magical.

"Wow ...," Ashley smiled as her eyes lit up too.

"Hi ...," Tom greeted. "Right on time."

Sam approached his father and set the thermos down. He looked around, somewhat dismayed, "You've been busy," he smiled.

Rachel smiled too, "Not without a lot of help from your grandfather."

Jed approached the table, the saplings, about four feet tall and in very large planters, were situated nearby.

"It really looks great back here," Ashley said softly. She glanced at Jed and smile reached her eyes.

"Well, the vegetable plot is coming along, you knew that ... but the saplings were Rachel's idea," he replied.

"Yes ... I wanted to do something for you both, or for all of us, really ...," she smiled and draped her arm along Ashley's shoulders. "After we spoke about Valentine's Day yesterday ... I thought maybe we could start a tradition of our own," she smiled. "Now that we're building a life together ... planting seeds back here and you're both growing up so fine ...," she rambled on, her faceted eyes pinned to Tom's for a beat before she held Sam's gaze.

"Great idea, Rachel," Sam nodded.

"Yeah," Ashley agreed, her serious eyes suddenly happy.

"We learned a lot today down at Robertson's farm," Jed said then.

"We did," Rachel agreed. "And that's why we came home with two saplings," she smiled and walked around the table. "This one here is a Moonglow pear," she explained. "The fruit will be similar to a Bartlett pear, the green variety with the red or pink blushing on one side," she smiled and then turned to the other sapling. "And _this_ one ... we learned we needed ... it's a Starking Delicious pear – _and without one another, planted within twenty or so feet apart_ – neither one will pollinate or bear fruit ...," she breathed.

"So their survival is dependent upon one another," Ashley surmised softly, a small smile spread along her face.

"Precisely," Rachel replied. "A bit like all of us, I think ...," she whispered.

Tom's face softened, "A gift for the entire family."

"Happy Valentine's Day kiddos," Jed declared.

"Yes ... indeed," Rachel murmured. "We'll plant them when the ground softens in the spring," she added. "Oh ... and one other thing, we thought maybe you both might enjoy a gazebo out here ... maybe in the far corner over there ...," she pointed.

"Cool," Sam nodded.

Jed draped his arm along Sam's shoulders, "We also thought maybe you'd want to take a stab at drawing a plan out for us ... make it another family project."

" _Very_ cool," Sam grinned happily.

"How about a toast?" Jed suggested then.

"Sounds about right," Tom agreed, his eyes crinkled with happiness.

 _And with that, the family was quiet for a moment while they reflected and Sam poured a round of hot cocoa._

"Happy Valentine's Day," Jed said as they raised their cups.

"And to many more," Tom added.

Rachel took a sip and was treated with a surprise ... something strong and definitely unexpected ... but familiar too. She turned to Sam at about the same time everyone else did.

"Bailey's, Sam ... really?" Tom chortled incredulously.

Sam chuckled sheepishly, "I just found that bottle from a long time ago ... the one hidden in the back of the cupboard when we moved in."

Rachel felt her cheeks heat, she took another sip of the decadent elixir, "It's lovely."

Jed took another sip, "I remembered it too, hadn't thought about it until New Year's Eve when Rachel arrived home and I pulled it out."

"It's strong," Ashley commented, her cheeks suddenly pink.

Tom chuckled, "I presume you know to save that for special occasions ... _and_ to ask permission next time?"

Sam smiled, "I do ... I was just looking to make it special."

"I know," Tom smiled and took another sip. "Good stuff, Son," he deadpanned and everyone chuckled.

 _###_

A short while later, Rachel stepped onto the porch with Tom behind her.

"Have a great time," Jed said then.

"We will ...," Rachel replied softly.

Tom draped his arm along Ashley's shoulders and drew her closer, "Call if you need us."

"We won't ... but thanks, Dad ... have fun ...," Ashley asserted with a broad smile.

"Yeah ...," Sam chimed in and Rachel gave him a squeeze.

They descended the steps. Rachel smiled at Tom and held her hand out. "I'll drive," she quipped.

He smirked and handed the keys to her, "Yes ma'am."

 _As she navigated toward the city, she and Tom spoke about the saplings and the children and her latest conversation with Weaver, stressing again, her new boss' desire to include Tom in their fundraising endeavors, whenever possible. And while he was on the same page as Weaver regarding the need for his presence, he was also aligned with Rachel in that he would prefer for their relationship to remain solely 'theirs' for as long as possible. They were both pretty private people to begin with, and infamy had done a number on both of them over the years._

Rachel drove by the capital building and hung a right. Slowing down, she turned into the hotel entrance, bypassed the carport and headed straight to guest parking, skipping the valet. She stole a glance at Tom to see if he noticed her stealth move. If he had, she wouldn't have known, though a reckoning of sorts crossed over his features. She pulled into an available spot. The hotel, in plain view now – _was well-lit and maintained_ – a site she hadn't seen at nighttime since they docked in St. Louis.

"We're here," she announced casually as she turned the engine off.

Tom turned to her, a small smile etched along his face. "I haven't been here ... in a long time ...," he said, his baritone filling the cab.

"I know ...," she whispered her reply. She leaned over the center console and kissed him, _once, twice._ "They're having a Valentine's Prix Fixe Dinner ... Kara helped make arrangements for us ...," was all she offered; her heart shimmied.

"Of course she did," he chuckled. "It sounds great."

 _They exited the car and Tom took her hand, the facade of the hotel looming in front of them reminiscent of the beacon it became that night all of those years ago when the leadership crew of the Nathan James – 'The Last Ship', as heralded by the informal news outlets – all but moved into the hotel, proclaiming it as the location of the inaugural ball and President Michener's home address out of necessity._

They walked on for several quiet moments before Rachel produced an envelope and stopped. Tom turned to her and smiled. "You'll open this later," she said softly. She handed the greeting card to him.

He stepped closer and kissed her, his touch familiar; her heart raced. She felt a measure of stress depart her. "This isn't epidemiological models is it?" he teased hotly, eliciting a timely giggle from her.

"No," she whispered as they began walking again.

Tom slipped the envelope into his breast pocket. "Good," was all he said.

The couple walked under the well-lit carport and straight into the hotel. Live piano music traveled through the lobby decorated with just the right amount of golden lighting and fresh flower arrangements. Hand-in-hand they entered the dining room and were met by a hostess positioned at the reservation counter.

"Hi ...," she smiled happily, her blond locks bouncing along with her eyes. "Happy Valentine's Day, do you have a reservation?" she asked.

Rachel smiled. "We do … under Scott," she answered softly.

The hostess looked down at the reservation book and then back up, her face suddenly flushed. She cleared her throat. "Yes ... Dr. Scott, I have you ... here, prepaid ... for two, hello ... Commander Chandler ... it's truly an honor," she greeted nervously.

Tom smiled disarmingly, "Good evening."

The hostess took two menu placards from a stack and looked around the room, "Follow me ... we've set aside our best table for you." She led them on for several paces, the dining room illuminated with tea candles and crisp white table linens was decorated with sprays of red roses, lovely and not overdone. She came to a table in the center of the somewhat crowded room, a lovely table with a view of the space, the dance floor ... and of course, the elusive pianist. "Here we are," she announced gracefully.

Rachel looked to Tom. He had the same idea as she did, "If it's not too much of a trouble, I'm wondering if we couldn't move ...," he suggested evenly, his eyes scanning the scene. "Maybe there ...," he pointed, Rachel's eyes followed his finger to a small semi-circle booth off to the side, somewhat obstructed from view.

"Of course ...," the hostess answered.

The trio navigated then and Rachel turned to her, "Thank you ... so much, I'm sure you might understand our desire for privacy."

"I do, absolutely," she answered. "Before I go ... may I just say, _'thank you'_... to both of you," she whispered quickly. "I was there that day, the courtyard, the inauguration ... you saved my life when you got here ...," she went on, her happy eyes glassy now too.

Rachel breathed, "It was our pleasure."

"Happy Valentine's Day ...," she said softly as she backed up.

"And to you as well," Tom answered.

She smiled one last time and departed. Tom helped Rachel off with her coat. "We must have bypassed the coat check," he murmured.

"Let's just keep them with us," Rachel suggested and draped her coat on the seat. "It's nice back here ... better ... private …," she said softly.

"Agreed," Tom smiled and removed his jacket. Rachel slid into the booth, Tom followed her lead.

She smiled and leaned in, "I'm hoping she'll alert the staff with regards to our sentiments for privacy."

"Me too ...," Tom said softly. "Admittedly, I doubt it though," he added. "Nice surprise, by the way …," he complimented; he took her hand and held it beneath the table.

She sighed, "Right now, I'm just glad you're okay with it … the surprise … well, you know –"

Tom inclined his head, "A night out … _alone_ with you, that's one hell of a surprise." He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "And I mean that."

 _###_

 _To say the food was fabulous was an understatement. And the service, impeccable – owing to their hostess' utmost discretion – as they were hardly disturbed at all, save for the necessary number of interruptions and pleasantries from their only server, Maria._

 _Rachel took another small bite of her tiramisu, the decadent dessert, such an incredible treat, it was hard to describe really. She smiled and eyed Tom carefully, the lull between them comfortable as he took a sip of his espresso. And while their conversations flowed so easily now – it was hard not to ruminate on just how far they had come – both together and apart from one another ... the circumstances of their union, at times still unbelievable, even to them._

He chuckled, "You should see how you look right now."

She batted her lashes playfully and his smile broadened. She set her fork down and turned into him slightly. "I should?"

"Hmm," he hummed and kept quiet, his eyes searching hers. "You're happy," he declared softly. "At peace," he smiled wistfully.

She tilted her head, "I am … with you, _very_ happy."

He smiled. "And you _loved_ that dessert," he went on playfully.

She blushed and held his gaze. "I did ... I think this is the longest, most lovely meal I've had in a decade ... at least ...," she replied as evenly as she could.

 _Her mind suddenly wild with every emotion imaginable: love, loss, fear, happiness, sadness. Overwhelmed by the intensity of his stare, she held her breath and looked away, the dining room crowd, having thinned out now – she watched a lone couple slow dancing – the world all around the lovers, gone for now._

 _"Rachel ...,"_ came Tom's whisper. She smiled into herself and turned back to him, surprised to find a handsome, two-inch jewelry box on the table between them. "There you are ...," he smiled.

She stared at the sleek, black box for a beat. "Tom …...," she breathed his name, an inflection of a question there too.

"This is for you," he whispered and pushed the tiny box toward her with two fingers.

"My turn to be surprised, I guess," she exhaled, training her eyes on his: _blue, endless … sparkling with intrigue._

Tom pressed his lips together and urged, "Go on ... open it."

Her heart raced and then she did just that, lifting the top of the box to reveal a set of beautiful earrings, studs to be exact – _similar to in shape and size to the only pair she'd worn for years_ – though far more delicate. The stones were blushed pink in the center with a green outer edge. Quite mesmerized, she tilted the box, watching as the stones glistened against the soft golden lights.

She realized she was holding her breath and peeked up to Tom. "They're stunning," she whispered, fastening her eyes to his now.

"You've worn the pair you have on since the day we met ...," he smiled weakly; her heart raced.

"They belonged to my mother …," she whispered and reached up, brushing her fingers along the stud in her right ear. "When my instincts told me what we were faced with … I … well, you know … took anything small and meaningful …," she rambled on.

Tom's entire face softened and he reached for Rachel's hand. "They're as beautiful on you as they must have been on your mother," he nodded, his eyes searching hers.

"You think?" she wondered breathlessly.

He nodded, "I do."

Fat tears pooled in her eyes and she blinked hastily. "Whenever did you find the time to shop?" she wondered, her heart suddenly alighted.

"I didn't …," he exhaled. "I've had them for years …," he admitted, a sense of vulnerability about him now. She inched closer. "They're crystals ... watermelon tourmaline ...," he sighed. "Unique ... just like you," he added softly. "Anyway … I saw them at a re-sale shop once and they reminded me of you … so –"

"I love them," Rachel leaned forward, balancing her palm on his thigh, she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and whispered, "And I love _you_ , so much."

Tom scanned the dining room and then turned his head; he brushed his lips against hers, _soft ... quick._ "Hmm, and I love you," he replied. He winked and raised her chin. "You know … I suddenly wish we were at home ... _alone_ , in our bedroom with the whole night ahead of us …," he husked playfully; he set his hand on top of hers and added pressure.

Rachel giggled and smiled brilliantly. "Open your card ...," she suggested as evenly as she could. "And then we can go ...," she eyed him carefully.

 _He smiled reluctantly and fished the envelope from his jacket pocket. His eyes darted to hers before he slipped his fingers beneath the flap and pulled the card out – the message therein simple, it read, 'Love Rachel' – though she wasn't sure that registered with Tom before he produced his gift: a hotel suite key card; white with a gold insignia._

He inclined his head. "Does this work?" he husked, his glassy eyes suddenly serious.

"Yes … love, it does," she answered, her voice wavering. He shook his head and blinked, seemingly at a loss for words. "It's your second chance …," she explained then. "To make your old dream come true … upstairs in the hallway and … beyond," she rambled on.

Reaching up, he traced his fingertips along her hairline and she leaned into his touch. "You're incredible," he breathed.

"So are you …," she whispered her reply.

 _###_

 _A few minutes later, the couple slipped into the lobby elevator sight unseen. Rachel pressed the button for the third floor and stepped into Tom's arms, her lips grazing his pulse point as he held her close and the elevator came to a slow stop. They emerged and silently navigated down one hallway and then took a left, glancing at one another when they spotted the small table and chairs at the far end … their destination … suite thirty-three, just beyond that._

"It's exactly the same …," Tom said softly.

"It is," she agreed, her fingers laced through his.

He stopped in front of the table and turned to her, his eyes vacillating. He blinked and smiled. "Hmm … what now …," he wondered, his voice, low and deep. He reached up and toyed with a longer strand of her hair and shook his head.

Rachel smiled up at him. "I don't know …," she whispered into his ear. "This is your dream, remember?" she said simply.

She watched as he scanned the hallway behind her for a flicker of a second before he wrapped his arms around her – _his chin pressed to her halo_ – her ear over his heart as it beat on in perpetuity … serene and strong and repetitive. She closed her eyes and let him live this moment he'd dreamt about off and on for years and years.

" _Thank you … for this … for tonight …,"_ he said after another long moment. She peered up and found his eyes, liquid blue, not a storm in sight. "You mean even more to me now … I hope you know that …," he smiled and brushed his fingers along her flushed cheek; her heart raced. "And … what might have been for just one night back then … is for a lifetime now … you know that don't you …," he swallowed hard.

"Yes … I do…," she breathed. He nodded then, acknowledging their mutual understanding of how far they'd come to arrive at this very same place, though the juncture quite different – _for this was not a simple circumstance, a stolen moment alone off the ship_ – this was a _defining_ moment of truth. "Kiss me …," she whispered then. "If that's what you want, if that's how this ends … or begins … kiss me …," she repeated; her gaze fixed to his.

 _And so he did. He kissed her and though his touch was familiar already – she relished in the way he held her flush against him with an urgency that was new – a timeless energy that did indeed say 'forever' without words. Turning around, he walked her backwards … his eyes crinkled with unbridled happiness. She smiled and stared at him as he stared at her, mirrors to one another for all time … idols revered. Without looking away from her, he slid the key card into the slot and the door clicked open. He turned the handle and they slipped inside the solace of the suite._

 _###_

The door closed behind them and world fell away into a vacuum of quiet solitude. Tom exhaled and cupped her face in his hands and held her there just inside the suite, this unexpected alcove of absolute privacy – _her eyes adjusting to the soft yellow light as they connected again_ – his hot breath fanning her face as he smoothed her hair back and away. She tilted her head up and kissed his neck, pulsing her lips to him there. His Adam's apple bobbed and his baritone suddenly filled the space. "It also looks the same ...," he breathed, his voice quiet and reflective as he looked beyond her and into the enclave.

"It does ...," she agreed and followed his gaze as he continued to look about the handsomely decorated suite, the configuration different than the one she stayed in four years prior – _but the décor,_ _navy blue and white linens and cherry furnishings_ – was the same … simple, yet aesthetically pleasing. She watched him smile broadly now.

"You've been here already today ... all checked-in ...," he whispered with a knowing grin, having seen their bags now, right where she left them on the credenza.

"I was ... we are ...," she answered, "I wanted you to be comfortable enough to stay ... and to know it wasn't just a whim."

They further stepped into the suite together. "So the kids ...," he sighed, his voice trailing off now.

"We spoke about it ...," she informed him.

He smiled and wrapped his arms around her. "What did you say?" he wondered; he brushed his nose against hers.

"I asked if it was all right with them ... that we stay out ... overnight ...," Rachel exhaled and draped her arms over his shoulders, swaying slightly. "And ... that it was high time for an old dream of yours to come true," she said, searching his eyes.

 _Drawing her closer, Tom began to kiss her now as if they truly were meant to be forever ... and perhaps even longer than that, for suddenly it felt as if nothing – not even their unconventional pairing – could have thwarted this fate ... this coveted end of their beginning ... that was somehow predestined to commence in this suite ... and on this night, close to five years after their chance meeting._

 _###_

From the inception of their physical relationship, Rachel and Tom had been slow, quiet lovers – _perhaps out of necessity, having never had the house to themselves_ – but more likely, it was simply a matter of their rhythm with one another. A cadence that was intuitive, yet tentative and methodical ... wherein every caress was meaningful and appreciated after having been deprived of the physical connection they desired for so many years.

 _And while Rachel hadn't realized how intuitively quiet they had become, Tom definitely had. She knew this now as he whispered hotly in her ear, his words vibrating through her as she followed his command and wedged her knee under his armpit to allow for the deeper penetration they both desired._

"Oh ... right there," he husked, his cock bumping against her cervix now.

"Yes ...," she hissed, her toes curling as he massaged and flicked his talented tongue across her nipples, caressing her erogenous flesh now in a series of open-mouthed kisses that moved in harmony with every downward pulse of his beautiful cock.

Her body hummed, chanting _'more, more, more'_ as she arched her back, one arm above her head, his fingertips laced through hers where he grounded himself. He found her eyes again and flawlessly slowed his tempo, releasing her leg – _he settled deeper into the apex of her thighs wherein she bucked her hips in response_ – adding just the right amount of pressure to her swollen clit. Taking her cue, he slid his free hand between them and massaged her there – _where she wanted it most_ – with her bundle of nerves wound so tight, begging for a release as her breathless chant of his name hung indefinitely in the space between them ... nowhere else to go.

She raised her hips. He kissed her cheeks and then her mouth. "Rachel … _cum_ …," he growled breathlessly; a spark of naughty laden in his gateways: _intense, gorgeous, endless._

 _Euphoric haze overcame her then and she lost sight of him for a brief flicker of time, her free hand at the nape of his neck where she held on tight and came apart inside his loving embrace … the waves of her orgasms, tumultuous at best as she opened her eyes just in time to watch him release, let go … lose sight of her too._

 _Her lubricated muscles milked his cock then, clenching around him now with ownership where all she could do was stare at him and the beautiful way his face contorted when he came – his emotions so raw, she often had look away – but not tonight. Not tonight with old dreams coming true. No, tonight she watched him come undone and it was a beautiful thing._

 _###_

 _It was just after one in the morning now as Rachel wiped the bathroom mirror down with a towel and surveyed the opaque image of herself, she inhaled sharply –_ _the essence of shampoo and sex clung to the humid particulates within_ _– her body warm, her nerve-endings numb from their love-making._

She sighed contentedly and removed her toiletries: _face cream, toner ... toothbrush and paste along with her birth control compact_. She slathered her legs and arms with body lotion, wrapped her hair in the towel and reached for Tom's button down shirt. She slipped the garment on and exited the bathroom, the cooler air, oddly inviting as she stepped into the darkened alcove and stole a look at her lover.

 _She smiled and watched him for a beat as he lay in bed, the space dark, save for the soft light of one bedside lamp. He was nude – his flesh still pink from their shower – his sinewy muscles, relaxed, his hair a towel-dried mess as he absentmindedly rooted through the hotel Valentine's Basket, which had been filled with 'essentials' like decadent chocolates, cookies, and plenty of savory snacks, which Tom had called 'sustenance'._

She entered the room and took the jewelry box from the small night table. Tom smirked and held a small white card and read aloud, "Happy Valentine's Day, Mr. and Mrs. Green?" He chortled and raised his brow.

"I wanted ultimate privacy ... no chance we would be discovered ...," she smiled and pulled the towel from her head. "Which reminds me ... we owe Kara some money," she giggled, tossing the towel onto a nearby table before she slid into the bed with him.

"Worth every penny," he replied and leaned over to kiss her; he tasted of dark chocolate and something salty. "So what do you have there?" he flirted shamelessly, batting his lashes as his eyes darted to the tiny box.

Rachel smiled, "I thought I would put them on."

He leaned closer and tugged on the collar of the shirt. "That's fine ... as long as you take this thing _off ...,"_ he whispered playfully before he kissed her cheek and then her neck, his fingertips caressing her clavicle and then her bare shoulder as he moved the fabric away and kissed her there, _once, twice._

 _Responsive desire coursed through her then and she leaned into his touch –_ _suddenly so happy ... fulfilled_ _– she hardly believed she made it ... that_ _they_ _had made it. She exhaled on that thought and pulled back, her eyes tenaciously pinned to his._

"I meant what I said earlier … you really have made me so happy," she said then. "Happier than I ever imagined I could be ... virus or not – _to end up here, with you_ – sometimes feels like a dream to me ...," she whispered; her voice quivered.

"That makes two of us ...," he said softly and pressed his lips together. He raked his hand through his damp hair. "After everything ... _really ... everything_ ... sometimes I'm truly astounded by how fortunate we are," he breathed.

 _She nodded and smiled weakly, raw emotion funneling through the air now along with the humidity and the lingering essence of their lovemaking. Tom said nothing more and he didn't have to, for it wasn't uncommon for him to elude to Darien's death in conversation. He tilted his head and regarded her – quietly making sure of her now as he was also known to do – she held his gaze and assured him without words: she was fine._

 _He opened a bag of gourmet popcorn. Rachel raised the lid of the jewelry box. She exhaled and slowly removed her earrings ... 'relics', she whispered into herself. She set them in the lid of the box and unhooked the new earrings, balancing them on her hand for a beat as they shimmered brilliantly against the soft yellow light._

She sighed and skillfully fit them into her ears, they felt different, a little lighter ... barely there at all. She looked to Tom and whispered, "How do I look?"

Tom reached up and set his hand upon her cheek. "Beautiful," he replied, his eyes suddenly translucent. She smiled. "But that's not because of the earrings ... or what they do to your eyes …," he exhaled and leaned in.

She cupped his handsome face in her hands and smiled. "No?" she queried, holding him right where she wanted him.

 _He shook his head, 'no' and tossed the bag of popcorn aside. Her breathless laugh filled the chamber as he pulled her even closer and laced his naked legs through hers, his cock waking up against her hipbone. Desire pinged at her core. He hummed and smoothed her damp hair away, quietly marveling at her for beat, a whimsical smile spread along his face._

"It's just you," he finally answered. He kissed her quickly. "Everything about you on the inside radiates beauty ...," he went on. "It's your brilliant mind and your fearlessness that I fell in love with first ... you know …," he whispered intensely. Her cheeks heated and she looked away, but he pushed her chin up and found her eyes. " _And_ how gutsy you are and how you give of yourself so freely ... especially now, after everything, with the promise of this new lab …," he revered.

 _Emotion funneled to her surface then and she was at a loss for words. Could she really have the best of both of her worlds? An enchanted life, with the love of her lifetime … and a research lab … to teach … to grow and learn? She nodded, perhaps it was true; a small tear popped free and cascaded down her cheek. He smiled and folded her into the envelope of his arms, her lips pressed to the underside of his neck before she rested her head upon his chest and all was quiet for a moment save for the repetitive beat of his heart ... one of her favorite sounds now._

 _She looked up and spied on him then for a lost beat in time … this moment that would belong solely to her, deep inside his dream come true. His gateways were closed and his fingertips traveled the length of spine, up and down. He was at peace – 'Tom is happy' – came Jed's proclamation. And on that thought, she closed her eyes too and became heavier in his arms, letting her guard down completely to live inside of this cherished moment ... suddenly a dream come true for both of them._

" _I've amended my best ending to that dream, you know …,"_ came his soothing voice from some far off place.

"I was hoping you would," she replied softly from that very same place.

 **END**


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